Seeing this, the warmth crept back to her lips, and a little light into her eyes, which she kept hidden from him.

Though she stood so proudly still, some wistful force was coming from her, as from a magnet, and Miltoun's hands and arms and face twitched as though palsied.

This struggle, dumb and pitiful, seemed never to be coming to an end in the little white room, darkened by the thatch of the verandah, and sweet with the scent of pinks and of a wood fire just lighted somewhere out at the back.

Then, without a word, he turned and went out.
She heard the wicket gate swing to.

He was gone..