Brendon felt his arm seized. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. Pale, flesh-colored light filtered in through the corners of the house. “Oh, Ann Veronica!” he cried, “I cannot let you go like this! You don’t understand. Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life. It is in vain to struggle against the arm of fate. That's part of the bargain. It would be too mortifying. "No, no," rejoined Thames; "fly—or I will not answer for your safety. ” He slipped off the horse.
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