He had almost forced himself upon her one night after a particularly bloody raid of a thatched cottage. She was trembling a little. The white veil had fallen to the ground and Gerald retrieved it for her. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. You cannot possibly leave me here alone with Gerald. You will also become a very rich man, though I wish that the circumstances had been different. Nothing but the constraint of social usage now linked him to her.
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