"
Again there sounded that piteous quiver in her words. It was like the
cry of a lost child. Grange heard it, and clenched his hands, but he
did not speak. He was gazing straight ahead, stern-eyed and still.
Muriel scarcely noticed his attitude. Having at length broken through
her barrier of reserve, she found a certain relief in speech.
"I might go away, of course," she said. "I expect I shall do that, for
I don't think I could endure it here. But I haven't many friends.
My year in India seemed to cut me off from every one. It's a little
difficult to know where to go. And then, too, there is Daisy."
She paused, and suddenly Grange spoke, with more abruptness than was
his wont.
"Why do you think he is sure to seek you out? Did he ever say so?"
She shivered. "No, he never said so. But--but--in a way I feel it.
He is so merciless. He always makes me think of an eagle swooping
down on its prey. No doubt you think me very fanciful and ridiculous.
Perhaps I am. But once--in the mountains--he told me that I belonged
to him--that he would not let me go, and--and--I have never been able
to forget it."
Her voice sank, and it seemed to Grange that she was crying in the
darkness. Her utter forlornness pierced him to the heart. He leaned
towards her, trying ineffectually to see her face.
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