Henson, the strange chatelaine of the House of the Silent Sorrow. He was
smiling blandly now at Enid Henson, the wonderfully beautiful girl with
the defiant, shining eyes.
"We may be seated now that madam is arrived," Henson said, gravely.
He spoke with a certain mocking humility and a queer wry smile on his
broad, loose mouth that filled Enid with a speechless fury. The girl was
hot-blooded--a good hater and a good friend. And the master passion of
her life was hatred of Reginald Henson.
"Madam has had a refreshing rest?" Henson suggested. "Pardon our anxious
curiosity."
Again Enid raged, but Margaret Henson might have been of stone for all
the notice she took. The far-away look was still in her eyes as she felt
her way to the table like one in a dream. Then she dropped suddenly into
a chair and began grace in a high, clear voice.
".... And the Lord make us truly thankful. And may He, when it seemeth
good to Him, remove the curse from this house and in due season free the
innocent and punish the guilty. For the burden is sore upon us, and there
are times when it seems hard to bear."
The big man played with his knife and fork, smilingly.
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