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He
came
toward
her
and
took
her
in
his
arms
.
She
struggled
a
little
,
afraid
of
yielding
,
but
he
pressed
her
to
him
,
not
bending
to
her
but
holding
her
fast
,
as
though
he
had
found
her
after
a
long
search
:
she
heard
his
hurried
breathing
.
It
seemed
to
come
from
her
own
breast
,
so
close
he
held
her
;
and
it
was
she
who
,
at
last
,
lifted
up
her
face
and
drew
down
his
.
She
freed
herself
and
went
and
sat
on
a
sofa
at
the
other
end
of
the
room
.
A
mirror
between
the
shrouded
window
-
curtains
showed
her
crumpled
travelling
dress
and
the
white
face
under
her
disordered
hair
.
She
found
her
voice
,
and
asked
him
how
he
had
been
able
to
leave
London
.
He
answered
that
he
had
managed
—
he
’
d
arranged
it
;
and
she
saw
he
hardly
heard
what
she
was
saying
.
“
I
had
to
see
you
,
”
he
went
on
,
and
moved
nearer
,
sitting
down
at
her
side
.
“
Yes
;
we
must
think
of
Owen
—
—
”
“
Oh
,
Owen
—
!
”
Her
mind
had
flown
back
to
Sophy
Viner
’
s
plea
that
she
should
let
Darrow
return
to
Givre
in
order
that
Owen
might
be
persuaded
of
the
folly
of
his
suspicions
.
The
suggestion
was
absurd
,
of
course
.
She
could
not
ask
Darrow
to
lend
himself
to
such
a
fraud
,
even
had
she
had
the
inhuman
courage
to
play
her
part
in
it
.
She
was
suddenly
overwhelmed
by
the
futility
of
every
attempt
to
reconstruct
her
ruined
world
.
No
,
it
was
useless
;
and
since
it
was
useless
,
every
moment
with
Darrow
was
pure
pain
.
.
.
“
I
’
ve
come
to
talk
of
myself
,
not
of
Owen
,
”
she
heard
him
saying
.
“
When
you
sent
me
away
the
other
day
I
understood
that
it
couldn
’
t
be
otherwise
—
then
.
But
it
’
s
not
possible
that
you
and
I
should
part
like
that
.
If
I
’
m
to
lose
you
,
it
must
be
for
a
better
reason
.
”
“
A
better
reason
?
”
