‘I feared as much. She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening. She seemed to think he was merely the paymaster, handing over the means of her freedom. The hurricane had now reached its climax. Lucy paced outside of the stone bricked room until her mother began to scream. In seconds, they faced each other before the altar. There was—a service. ’ ‘I will not. The real ‘Alcide’,” she wound up with a faint smile across the table at him, “is here. You have grown into my life, and I cannot tear you out. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. But, egad! I believe he will.
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