The fact that brought the blood to her
cheeks would no longer be hidden, and she knew it was a longing to
punish the lad who had struck down the man she loved that had led to
her insistence on the former leaving Silverdale. It was a difficult
admission, but she made it that night. The outcast who had stepped
out of the obscurity, and into her peaceful life, had shown himself a
man that any woman might be proud to mate with, and, though he had
said very little, and now and then his words were bitter, she knew
that he loved her. Whatever he had done, and she felt against all
the teachings of her reason that it had not been evil, he had shown
himself the equal of the best at Silverdale, and she laughed as she
wondered which of the men there she could set in the balance against
him. Then she shivered a little, remembering that there was a
barrier whose extent he alone realized between them, and wondered
vaguely what the future would bring.
It was a week or two before Winston was on his feet again, and Maud
Barrington was one of the first to greet him when he walked feebly
into the hall. She had, however, decided on the line of conduct that
would be most fitting, and there was no hint of more than neighborly
kindliness in her tone. They had spoken about various trifles when
Winston turned to her.
"You and Miss Barrington have taken such good care of me that if I
consulted my inclinations I would linger in convalescence a long
while," he said.
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