Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. And because he knew it was a burden, there was no gaiety upon the doctor's face; neither was there speech on his tongue. Hartford, Connecticut; she had registered that address; but there was something so mystifyingly Oriental about her that the address only thickened the haze behind which she moved. Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. "It is not too late to repair the wrong I have done my nephew," cried Trenchard.
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