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"
"Have you any reason for such a feeling?"
"I don't think so. Poor thing! I know she has a dreadful scar. But I
don't believe it's that. It's just a feeling I have."
"I dare say it will have gone by the time we get back to the island."
"Perhaps. It's nice and dark here."
"Do you like darkness, Vere?"
"Sometimes. I do now."
"Why?"
"Because I can talk better and be less afraid of you."
"Vere! What nonsense! You are incapable of fear."
She laughed, but the laugh sounded serious, he thought.
"Real fear--perhaps. But you don't know"--she paused--"you don't know
how I respect you."
There was a slight pressure on the last words.
"For all you've done, what you are. I never felt it as I have just
lately, since--since--you know."
Artois was conscious of a movement of his blood.
"I should be a liar if I said I am not pleased. Tell me about the
work, Vere--now we are in the dark."
And then he heard the revelation of the child, there under the weary
rock, as he had heard the revelation of the mother.


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