For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. She should be lifted out of her narrow little life, and it should be all owing to him. The envelope might contain only a request as to what he wanted done with the manuscripts. She was flushed, and her eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all abroad in wandering strands of black. With a curt command to her cavalier to get up on the box and give the direction to the interested coachman, he jumped in beside the girl and shut them both into privacy. At that, the girl jumped up. He had more time for her. But she could not live in constant association with him without having these gaps filled. I'll call it my wedding gift. I would have liked to know. It was rigged up for the occasion as it has been many a time before.
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