Part 2 In the late afternoon, as Ann Veronica was gathering flowers for the dinnertable, her father came strolling across the lawn toward her with an affectation of great deliberation. She felt draggled and insulted beyond redemption. From the freshness of the stains, which grew more frequent as they approached the adjoining chamber, it was evident some violence had been recently perpetrated, and the carpenter's own blood froze within his veins as he thought, with a thrill of horror, that, perhaps on this very spot, not many minutes before his arrival, his adopted son might have been inhumanly butchered. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. "I am content," said Jack. When she saw Ann Veronica she stood for a moment as if entranced, and then advanced with outstretched hands. " "To be sure you are," replied Jonathan, laughing. But that bridge was more remarkable than any the metropolis now possesses. She had money of her own—much more than I have—and there was no need to squabble about that.
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