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But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. ‘Come, cry a truce. She felt herself shaking again. With a curt command to her cavalier to get up on the box and give the direction to the interested coachman, he jumped in beside the girl and shut them both into privacy. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. Certainly, there wasn't a thing in the pockets. He would have risen again, but for the significance of the action. .
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