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” “I suppose so. "I cannot remain here long. Somewhere in the world would be his people, perhaps his mother; and it might soften the bitterness, of the return to consciousness if he found a woman at his bedside. Nothing has gone wrong here?" "Nothing whatever," replied Ireton. He remained talking with her however. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. Hastily, he reached for the door. "Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. Then suddenly, in front of all those windows, he folded her in his arms and pressed her to him, and kissed her unresisting face. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. His figure was tall and commanding, and the expression of his countenance (though somewhat disturbed by his recent exertion) was resolute and stern. He tore it down just as the Wastrel rose, wavering slightly.
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