She was looking full at him; and, as I have said before, that scar and his gloomy eyes and thick eyebrows seemed to make up the whole of his face.

But the scar had never been ugly to her.

She knew the story, and when he was her lover she had taken pride in the mark of the wound.

She looked at him, but though he paused she did not speak.

The music of the river was still in her ears, and there came upon her a struggle as though she were striving to understand its song.