For a few minutes, Darrell seemed to have the advantage in the conflict. Even as she watched, the sweat of weakness began to form on his forehead and under the nether lip. She did this to please him. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. Rowland, meantime, alarmed by the voices, snatched a torch from his attendant, and holding it over the side of the wherry, witnessed the incident just described. She could still feel his psychic presence all around her, and she knew he was thinking of her. “No doubt about that, I fancy,” Meddoes answered lightly. " "Well, then, lose no time in bringing him to us," said Mrs.
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