She wondered if there
was a quiet pony in the stables on which she would be allowed to ride out
alone. The chances were that she would be watched. Robert would come
spurring after her and seize her bridle just as she was turning in at Sir
John's gates.
A group of men that they passed in a village street gave them no very
friendly looks, and Alethia thought she heard a furtive hiss; a moment
later they came upon an errand boy riding a bicycle. He had the frank
open countenance, neatly brushed hair and tidy clothes that betoken a
clear conscience and a good mother. He stared straight at the occupants
of the car, and, after he had passed them, sang in his clear, boyish
voice:
"We'll hang Bobby Bludward on the sour apple tree."
Robert merely laughed. That was how he took the scorn and condemnation
of his fellow-men. He had goaded them to desperation with his shameless
depravity till they spoke openly of putting him to a violent death, and
he laughed.
Mrs. Bludward proved to be of the type that Alethia had suspected, thin-
lipped, cold-eyed, and obviously devoted to her worthless son. From her
no help was to be expected. Alethia locked her door that night, and
placed such ramparts of furniture against it that the maid had great
difficulty in breaking in with the early tea in the morning.
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