These dreadful creatures would prowl around everywhere; they
might even penetrate the shrubbery to the foot of the stairs leading
to his own retired room; they would destroy his happiness and drive
him mad.
For this moody, silent youth had been strangely happy in his life
at Elmhurst, despite the neglect of the grim old woman who was its
mistress and the fact that no one aside from Lawyer Watson seemed to
care whether he lived or died.
Perhaps Donald did. Good old Don was friendly and seldom bothered him
by talking. Perhaps old Misery liked him a bit, also. But these were
only servants, and almost as helpless and dependent as himself.
Still, he had been happy. He began to realize it, now that these awful
girls had come to disturb his peace. The thought filled him with grief
and rebellion and resentment; yet there was nothing he could do to
alter the fact that Donald's "young females" were already here, and
prepared, doubtless, to stay.
The sorrel was dashing down the road at a great pace, but the boy
clung firmly to his seat and gloried in the breeze that fanned his hot
cheeks. Away and away he raced until he reached the crossroads, miles
away, and down this he turned and galloped as recklessly as before.
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