Her memory recalled the days by the brook when she had listened to other words--to other thoughts--to promises and to pleadings for other things, which came from that man's lips at the bidding of her look or her smile, at the nod of her head, at the whisper of her lips.

Was there then in his heart something else than her image, other desires than the desires of her love, other fears than the fear of losing her?
How could that be?
Had she grown ugly or old in a moment?
She was appalled, surprised and angry with the anger of unexpected humiliation; and her eyes looked fixedly, sombre and steady, at that man born in the land of violence and of evil wherefrom nothing but misfortune comes to those who are not white.

Instead of thinking of her caresses, instead of forgetting all the world in her embrace, he was thinking yet of his people; of that people that steals every land, masters every sea, that knows no mercy and no truth--knows nothing but its own strength.

O man of strong arm and of false heart! Go with him to a far country, be lost in the throng of cold eyes and false hearts--lose him there! Never! He was mad--mad with fear; but he should not escape her! She would keep him here a slave and a master; here where he was alone with her; where he must live for her--or die.

She had a right to his love which was of her making, to the love that was in him now, while he spoke those words without sense.