There was no anger in it, nor was it even pitiless.

It seemed to have glazed as hard and passionlessly as his eyes.

Something came to her of her wonderful mother's tales of the ancient Saxons, and he seemed to her one of those Saxons, and she caught a glimpse, on the well of her consciousness, of a long, dark boat, with a prow like the beak of a bird of prey, and of huge, half-naked men, wing-helmeted, and one of their faces, it seemed to her, was his face.

She did not reason this.

She felt it, and visioned it as by an unthinkable clairvoyance, and gasped, for the flurry of war was over.