"Do you suppose I care two straws for the gossip of a parcel of spiteful old women ?" "Not at the moment, perhaps, but later you wouldn't be able to help it.

What people think of you, what they say of you, can make all the difference between heaven and hell." He spoke heavily, as though his words were weighted with some deadening memory.

"And do you think I could bear to feel that I--_I_ had given people a handle for gossiping about you?
I'd cut their tongues out first!" he added savagely.
He stripped off his coat, and, sitting down on a rock, began removing his boots, while Sara stood watching him in silence with big, sombre eyes.
Presently he stood up, bareheaded and barefooted.

Below the lean, tanned face the column of his throat showed white as a woman's, while the thin silk of his vest revealed the powerful line of shoulder at its base.

His keen eyes were gazing steadily across to the opposite shore, as though measuring the distance he must traverse, and as a chance shaft from the westering sun rested upon him, investing him momentarily in its radiance, there seemed something rather splendid about him--something very sure and steadfast and utterly without fear.
A sharp cry broke from Sara.
"Garth! Garth!"-- his name sprang to her lips spontaneously.