"What is this!" cried Sir Rowland. “Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said. Gerald watched her vanish into the darkness, unusually incensed. Firmly built, as it was, the bridge creaked in such a manner with their contending efforts, that Abraham durst not venture beyond the door, where he stood, holding the light, a horrified spectator of the scene. That was the true miracle of the gift; without actual experience, to imagine love and hate and greed and how they would react upon each other; and then, when these passions had served their temporary purpose, to cast them aside for new imaginings. Wood became sensible that he was not alone. ‘I can take care of myself, bête.
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