He glanced surreptitiously aside at her once more, but there was no sign of relenting in the averted face.

He rested lower against the rock, his face upturned toward the sky, and thought.

He was becoming vaguely aware that something entirely new, and rather unwelcome, had crept into his life during that last fateful half-hour.
It could not be analyzed, nor even expressed definitely in words, but he comprehended this much--he would really enjoy rescuing this girl, and he should like to live long enough to discover into what sort of woman she would develop.
It was no spirit of bravado that gave rise to his reckless speech of an hour previous.

It was simply a spontaneous outpouring of his real nature, an unpremeditated expression of that supreme carelessness with which he regarded the future, the small value he set on life.

He truly felt as utterly indifferent toward fate as his words signified.