He knew that tragedy was as blind as justice, that it struck the child and the grown-up impartially. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. He hated horizons. She hoped the lights would become hot enough to melt her into the floor. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. Jonathan cast a hasty glance around, to see that all was properly arranged for his purpose; placed a chair with its back to the door; disposed the lights on the table so as to throw the entrance of the room more into shadow; and then flung himself into a seat to await Sir Rowland's arrival. "Who is it, Bess?" "How should I know?" replied Edgeworth Bess. Wood could not avoid making a slight shuffling sound. .
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