‘Yes, but quite my own fault. He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. A bad man, in fact. "You are an angel," she cried, with a look beaming with delight. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. I didn’t dream, not even in my wildest dreaming, that—you might have any need of me. It was eleven o'clock. I mystify you; I can see that. "I'll cut down him who opposes me. "Back!" cried Jack fiercely: "lay a finger on her, and I will fell you to the ground. Every moment or two he bent over his patient. But don’t think your heroic milice will save you.
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