PRISONER AND CAPTOR
what a struggle it was costing him and at what pains he took refuge in the silence he demanded. His brutality was but the sudden outward manifestation of this battle, which, should it not take one side, must assuredly take the other. He had decided. Nothing should turn the iron helm of his will. But as he sought the deck, hot memory poured over him in a flood. He recalled the times she had tossed her head at him, even before the incident of the coach. That, too, he remembered, even with a sense of amusement. The coranto! and how he had sought to patch and mend his wounded pride by fruitlessly assailing hers, battering abortively at the citadel of the heart he could never hope to win. Ferrers! The precious papers he had had for a sweet half-hour in his bosom and had thrown away! Where had Ferrers hidden them from her? The priceless heritage with which he could have daunted this woman-enemy of his whom he had loved and hated at the same time and from whom he had received only scorn and misprision. Could he refuse her now that she was a helpless captive, weak, frail, and un-
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