A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment. Everything had stayed the same during the centuries. "I don't deserve it," he said, at length; "but I would have risked a thousand deaths to enjoy this moment's happiness. He was staring at her, openly gaping. A girl—at my age—is grown-up. She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. For a long time she surveyed a row of towering holly-hocks, as though they offered an explanation.
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