” She put her wrists upon his shoulders, feeling him surge with the pride of his own masculinity as she touched him. He was in the house with his mother. Meysey Hill—never your wife. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. You have never seen the child within your arms perishing from hunger, and no relief to be obtained. ’ ‘Will you indeed? Truly?’ His smile held so much tenderness, she was tempted to surrender at once. ’ Ignoring this, the major slipped his hands about her waist and lifted her to her feet. The fresh air, which blew in his face, greatly revived him. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations.
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