" "Why, that must be about the time of the Great Storm," rejoined Jackson. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. The problem had returned, made gigantic by the possibility of Ruth's love. “As I have explained many a time, Lucia, the maladies of the blood and flesh do not afflict us. ’ The lady hesitated a moment, her eyes seeming to measure the distance between where he stood and the door. Supposing he too wanted love and his arms were as empty as hers? Some living thing that depended upon her.
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