Chapter 32

‘Well! Here bin the very thing I was alooking for—now we’m got a bit o’ crockery we’ve come whome proper, lass!’ Robert spoke lightly to hide the almost unbearable desire to weep that this creature brought. He had never felt like that before—never so much like that. The dreadful grip of Pity, more clinging, more lasting than the grip of Terror; the immense, wild pity that drove Christ to Calvary and has driven men mad, was upon Robert Rideout as it had not been ever in fold nor lambing shed. He had felt it there. H…