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“You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. He, who had faced the gale, would have been instantly stifled. I thank God for His sunlight on your face. Perhaps it was loneliness. And, in applying the term to his friend, Thames meant to pay him a high compliment. He embraced her like her father once had. Do you remember when we went right away, Nigel, and forgot everything? We went down the river past Veraz, and the larks were singing all over those deep brown fields, and the river further on wound its way like a coil of silver across the rich meadowland, and along the hillside vineyards.
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