But it was only when that damned scoundrel nearly spitted you in the chapel—’ He broke off and, to her intense satisfaction she saw he was not as much in command of himself as he would have her believe. "I can't help thinking of it, Sir," answered the widow. His sword-arm fell useless at his side and she knew herself safe. ‘I can’t do that. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. But I sent him the longest way about. The stags and oxen and things all have to fight for us, everywhere. To a woman she might have confided; but to this man, kindly as he was, it was unthinkable.
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