Page:Restless Earth.djvu/106

It is difficult to surmise what form Harley's fury might have taken had not he been checked by a burst of unrestrained sobbing behind him. Roy looked at him in a natural embarrassment at the sound, and instinctively lessened the speed of the car.

Harley’s fury vanished, He sat back in his seat and stared into the blackness outside the range of the headlights.

“There, there, my dear,” they heard the mother murmuring softly. “Don’t take on so. It is the will of God, my dear. He takes what is His. My dear, my dear———.”

“It isn’t right! It isn’t fair!” moaned the daughter. “What are we to do?”

“Hush, my dear. You know everything will be all right with father and me. Don’t take on so.”

“Let her have her cry out, mother,” put in the elderly man gently. ‘“She’ll be better for it afterwards.”

“Oh, daddy, what am I going to do?” came the despairing cry of the young woman.

“Hush, Grace, my lass,” begged the elderly man goftly. “You just have your cry out on my shoulder. We will speak about it afterwards.”

Roy pursed his lips and frowned in concentration upon his task, the light from the dash revealing the embarrassed colour in his hardened features.

Harley slumped in his seat afresh.

The coincidence in names struck him with the force of a blow, making him ashamed of his untimely desire to defend the woman who had robbed him of all honour.

He insisted to himself that he hated Patricia Weybourn, and despised himself utterly that he could have fallen victim to her obvious blandishments.

He was awake now—but he had awakened too late.

Grace and Joan were lying somewhere ahead—crushed, buried, burned—small heaps of scattered