Lucy went hunting on a Thursday night. ” “I will tell him,” Lady Lescelles said. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. “I thought you wanted to have a talk to me,” she said. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. Michelle walked up the concrete porch steps, gesturing to Lucy to do the same. “But Sir John?” he exclaimed. The McCloskeys had picked Lucy from a bunch of children languishing at the Illinois Christian Home for Children.
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