One more passer-by; and always would she remember his patience and tenderness and disinterestedness. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation. That was life. How Jack Sheppard was again captured 367 XV.
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