She felt it then; all in an instant it seemed to be borne in upon her mind that she could not help herself, but was only the instrument in the hands of a superior power whose will she was fulfilling through the workings of her passion, and to whom her individual fate was a matter of little moment.

It was inconclusive reasoning and perilous doctrine, but it must be allowed that the circumstances gave it a colour of truth.

And, after all, the border-line between fatalism and free-will has never been quite authoritatively settled, even by St.Paul, so perhaps she was right.

Mankind does not like to admit it, but it is, at the least, a question whether we can oppose our little wills against the forces of a universal law, or derange the details of an unvarying plan to suit the petty wants and hopes of individual mortality.

Jess was a clever woman, but it would take a wiser head than hers to know where or when to draw that red line across the writings of our lives.
On came the cart and the knot of men, then suddenly John looked up and saw her gazing at him with those dark eyes that at times did indeed seem as though they were the windows of her soul.