respected her mood. At last, when they were clear of the town, the Countess broke her silence.
Thank God! she exclaimed, we're out of the place. I wish it were for ever. It stifles me, all this narrowness, this meanness, this hideous meanness. Some day God will strike these fools dead.
I've felt that way many times, the boy replied, in full sympathy.
Let us forget them, she suggested. Why should I permit them to worry me?
Gareth sensed the cause of her momentary discomfiture, but he gave no sign to this effect.
Look! he cried. Look at that flight of blackbirds!
They stood on the bank of a little lake that was rapidly being filled in to make more land for the railroad-yards, and which, besides, served as a dumping-ground for the refuse of the town. Nevertheless, the view was picturesque: the bank grew thick with willows; the marsh-like water was spiked with watergrasses and cat-tails, here and there interrupted by a placid circle, spattered with the cups of yellow water-lilies and their circular, green pads.
It's beautiful, the Countess breathed softly. Why, she demanded, should you and I be the only ones to appreciate this country? It's just as lovely in its way as anything in France or England. Even those towers over there . . . she pointed to the railroad buildings, silhouetted against the sky . . . are just as handsome in their rugged way as the old
