Viii

But, 'Have her in: let her hear it,' called Grandfather Bridgeman, elate, While Mary's black-gloved fingers hung trembling with flight on the gate. Despite the women's remonstrance, two little ones, lighter than deer, Were loosed, and Mary, imprisoned, her whole face white as a tear, Came forward with culprit footsteps. Her punishment was to commence: The pity in her pale visage they read in a different sense.