" "Dare not!" echoed the carpenter; "I don't understand you, Joan. A sophisticated woman would have translated the tone as a caress. She struggled fiercely not to give way. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. All emotions laid hold of him, but none could he stay long enough to analyze it. You are right. “To the best of my belief,” she said, with quiet dignity, “I have never seen either of you before in my life. But I am not indisposed to gratify you. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. "But I dread the effect your departure may have upon your poor mother. I want to give myself to you.
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