man retorted, angry with her and with himself. ‘Perhaps you would have been sorry if I had gone to save your lamb and had been drowned?’
"In a moment she had turned and taken his hands in hers.
"‘Oh, dear love, yes!’ she said. ‘I am glad you did not risk it. I did not think; but I love courage so.’
"She took the lamb in her arms and carried it into the house. As he walked beside her, the man heard her whisper, as she kissed the wet, woolly head, ‘Yet it is but right that the strong should help the weak, even if it be only a lamb.’
"After that it seemed as though something had come between them, something neither could define. True, she loved him even more than before, it might be, but not in the same way. Now she seemed to add pity to her love, and no pride. She did not look up to him, but down upon him. Her love was like that of a mother for a crippled child. Yet, after all, it was the greater love; for love of the weak and failing is true love, while love of the strong and successful is selfish in a degree
