The night throbbed slow about them.

Some late bird rose from the sedges of the pool, and with a frightened cry flapped its tired wings, and drifted into the dark.

His eyes, through the gathering shadow, devoured the weak, trembling body, met the soul that looked at him, strong as his own.

Was it because it knew and trusted him that all that was pure and strongest in his crushed nature struggled madly to be free?
He thrust it down; the self-learned lesson of years was not to be conquered in a moment.
"There have been times," he said, in a smothered, restless voice, "when I thought you belonged to me.

Not here, but before this life.