They are tolerably hard to bear alone,
but it is more difficult to make the best of them when the poorly-fed
body is as worn out as the mind. To stay here would be--paradise--but
a glimpse of it will probably have to suffice. Its gates are well
guarded, and without are the dogs, you know."
Something in Maud Barrington thrilled in answer to the faint hoarseness
in Winston's voice, and she did not resent it. She was a woman with
all her sex's instinctive response to passion and emotion, though as
yet the primitive impulses that stir the hearts of men had been covered
if not wholly hidden from her by the thin veneer of civilization. Now,
at least, she felt in touch with them, and for a moment she looked at
the man with a daring that matched his own shining in her eyes.
"And you fear the angel with the sword?" she said. "There is nothing
so terrible at Silverdale."
"No," said Winston. "I think it is the load I have to carry I fear the
most."
For the moment Maud Barrington had flung off the bonds of
conventionality. "Lance," she said, "you have proved your right to
stay at Silverdale, and would not what you are doing now cover a great
deal in the past?"
Winston smiled wryly. "It is the present that is difficult," he said.
"Can a man be pardoned and retain the offense?"
He saw the faint bewilderment in the girl's face give place to the
resentment of frankness unreturned and with a little shake of his
shoulders shrank into himself.
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