They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. She laughed as the deluge seemed to grow worse with every step. The touch of her hands was pleasurable. He regretted— more deeply than he could say—the occurrence of this evening. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. Turning to Melusine, he grabbed both her wrists and held her away from him, as if afraid that she might go for him. ‘It needs not that you tell me. . She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. . "Well, I will see him," replied the knight, after a moment's pause; "he may be from the Earl of Mar.
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