“Before this there was a sort of restraint—a make-believe. His wife met him at the door, and into her hands he delivered his little charge. She had expected a love story; and love was totally absent. “I wish that I could forget it,” he said. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. 47, straightening her hat and waiting for her luggage to appear. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. He went over her features one by one in his mind. It was instantly answered by the deep note of St.
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