"It wasn't my fault," he muttered, as if some one were accusing him.

Then, a little further from the house, "I ain't sure Hiram hasn't done right.
But, God help me, I couldn't never save _my_ children at such a price." He was clear of the grounds before Adelaide, the first to move, cast a furtive glance at her brother.

Her own disaster was swallowed up for her in the thought of how he had been struck down.

But she could read nothing in his face.

He was simply gazing straight ahead, and looking _so_ like his father at his most unfathomable.