Not to go to her is wickeder than if I had run away with my friend's wife. Of what was she thinking? She must rescue herself. Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner. . Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. She knew, or guessed his mission too, for more than once their eyes met, and she laughed mockingly at him. Outside the door stood one of the soldiers. He saw the girl, and sprang up in bed. Trenchard glanced at the document. Such apartments as she saw were either scandalously dirty or unaccountably dear, or both. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being.
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