And for a moment there was a fierce struggle in the brave heart of that strong woman as she shook out her black hair and turned pale to the lips.

She rose again, and went and got the book she had hidden, and laid it just where it had lain before.

Then she knew, and she bowed her head till her white forehead touched the table before her, and her hands were wet as they pressed her eyelids.
"I am very weak," she said aloud, and proceeded with her toilet.
"But you will be kind to him, Margaret," said the little voice in her heart, as she laid her head on the pillow.
"But it is my duty to be cold.

I do not love him," she argued, as the watch struck eight bells.
Poor Saint Duty! what a mess you make of human kindness! Claudius was still on deck, and a wretched man he was, as his chilled hands clung to the side.

He knew well enough that she was angry, though she had reproached herself with not having made it clear to him.