As for the man, he looked down at the little, pale face, with the
dark lashes sweeping the soft cheeks, at the mouth still trembling to
a sob of terror and grief, and a mighty wave of emotion was over him.
He realized that he held in his arms not only the girl whom he loved,
towards whom his whole being went out in protection and tenderness,
but himself, his whole future, even in some subtle sense his past. He
was like one on some height of the spirit, from which he overlooked
all that was, all that had gone before, and all that would come. He
was on the Delectable Mountain. Within himself he comprehended the
widest vision of earth, that which is given through love. The man's
face, looking at the woman's on his shoulder, became transfigured. It
was full of uttermost tenderness, of protection as perfect as that of
a father for his child. His heart, as he looked at her, was at once
that of a lover and a father. He unconsciously held her closer, and
bent his face down over hers softly, as if she had been indeed a
child.

"Poor little soul!" he whispered, and his lips almost touched her
cheek.

Then a wave of color came over the girl's face. "I am better," she
said, and raised herself abruptly. Anderson drew back and removed his
arm. He feared she was offended, and perhaps afraid of him. But she
looked piteously up in his face, and, to his dismay, began to cry.
Her nerves were completely unstrung. She was not a strong girl, and
she had, in fact, been through a period of mental torture which might
have befitted the Inquisition. She could still see the man's evil
face; her brain seemed stamped with the sight; terror had mastered
her. She was for the time being scarcely sane. The terrible
imagination of ill which had possessed her, as she sat there gazing
at the sleeping terror, still held her in sway. She was not naturally
hysterical, but now hysterics threatened her.

Anderson put his arm around her again and drew her head to his
shoulder. "You must not mind," he said, in a grave, authoritative
voice. "You are ill and frightened. You must not mind. Keep your head
on my shoulder until you feel better. You are quite safe now."
Anderson's voice was rather admonishing than caressing. Charlotte
sobbed wildly against his shoulder, and clung to him with her little,
nervous hands. Anderson sat looking down at her gravely. "Is your
mother at home?" he asked, presently.

"No," sobbed Charlotte; "they have all gone to drive."

"