Whatever power was in the tide should be his, in its entirety.

It was his right.

Was not his aim high, the highest?
It was his right.
Margret, looking up, saw the man's eye fixed on her.

She met it coolly.

All her short life, this strange man, so tender to the weak, had watched her with a sort of savage scorn, sneering at her childish, dreamy apathy, driving her from effort to effort with a scourge of contempt.