A tiny water-wheel was turning in the fall, a children's toy, and the wheel still turned, though its owners had gone.
The sight of that simple thing fairly brought my heart to my mouth.
That inspection was a gruesome business.

One of the doorposts of the house still stood, and it was splashed with blood.

On the edge of the ashes were some charred human bones.

No one could tell whose they were, perhaps a negro's, perhaps the little mistress of the water-wheel.

I looked at Ringan, and he was smiling, but his eyes were terrible.