From a man, who was standing beneath the shade of one these noble trees, information was obtained that the horsemen had ridden along the Harrow Road. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. Sheppard looked round, and exchanged kindly glances with several of those who addressed him. But when all was over, a sorrowful calm succeeded, and, if not free from grief, she was tranquil. His expression altered. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes.
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