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Reuben was grieved, but not so much grieved as if she had been cut down in her strengthfor a long time she had been pretty useless on the farm. He handed her over to the nursing of the girls, though they were too busy to do more for her than the barest necessities. Now and then he went up himself and sat by her bed, restlessly cracking his fingers, and fretting to be out again at his work."It is not justice, Sir Robert Skipwith," said he, "to wrest the unfortunate from the merciful interposition of the churchit is not justice, but a high contempt of supreme law, to set at nought the merciful commands of the sovereignit is not justice to usurp a power that belongs not to you, in order to crush a friendless womanit is not justice to set the opinions of an individual against the sacred authority of God's church. The church alone, I repeat, has power to judge in cases where the soul is concerned, as in heresy and witchcraft."Then, when Fair-time came, people began to mutter "no more Fair." It was as hard to imagine Boarzell without the Fair as without its plume of firs. The Squire gave out his intention of tolerating the Fair, as long as it did not straggle from the crest. But this failed to soothe the indignant and sore, for it was humbling to have the Fair as a matter of toleration. Also at that time there was talk of fences. All the Moor had been mapped out, the claims considered, the road repaired, and now nothing more was to be done except to put up the fences which would definitely seal Boarzell as Flightshot's own.Chapter 11"Course I am. That's his face sure enough, though he's as thin as wire."
