THREE:The house was swimming in the light of the western moon. Its strange curves and bulges, its kiln-shaped ends, and great waving sprawl of roof all shone in a white glassy brilliance, which was somehow akin to peace. There was a soft flutter of wind in the orchard and in the sentinel poplars, while now and then came that distant night-purged scrap of song:
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THREE:"I'm sorry," he said sheepishly.Holgrave entered soon after the baron's departure. Margaret strove to meet him with a smile; but it was not the sunny glow, that usually greeted his return. He detected the effort; nay, as he bent down to kiss her cheek, he saw that she trembled.
THREE:"He's dead," said Realf.
THREE:The two men met in the kitchen, Peter backing up his father, and for a long time the scene was stormy, the word "roots" whirling about the conversation, with the prefix "my good" or "your hemmed" as the case might be. Realf was genuinely angryReuben's attitude of mingled truculence and scorn had wounded even his easy pride.