" She opened the book which she had brought to the table. She bound a scarf tightly round the place where the blood seemed to be coming from. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. If they entered a shop, he paused by the doorway, as if waiting for the journey to be resumed. But who would pay the ransom? There was no one left in his family.
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