The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. His lawful wife; but nothing more; beyond that she was only an idea, a trust. Before he could make the thrust, however, he was seized behind by Ireton, who flung himself upon him. His subjects, however, were no longer entirely under his control; and, though he managed to enforce some little attention to his commands, it was evident his authority was waning fast. That was the glorious if bewildering truth.
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