How could he hear the tremor of her pleading voice and refuse her?
The memory of her came over him like a warm soft wave.

He felt again the quick pressure of her arm about his neck, the fleeting sweetness of her kiss.

How had he kept himself from catching her to his heart in that moment, and holding her there while he drank his fill of the cup she had so shyly proffered?
How had he ever suffered her to flit from him down the rough _kopje_ and turn at the bottom with the old intangible shield uplifted between them?
The blood raced in his veins.

He clenched his hands in impotent self-contempt.

And yet at the back of his man's soul he knew that by that very forbearance his every natural impulse condemned, he had strengthened his position, he had laid the foundation-stone of a fabric that would endure against storm and tempest.