" "I liked that, too," she replied; "but it wasn't that I had in mind. "What is this?" she wanted to know. She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. " "Ay—ay," laughed Jonathan. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended.
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