To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. Tears flowed in rivulets down 121 her cheeks and she began to cry. " "Didn't want any lectures spoiling a good time. It was locked. "Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation. What had happened to it? She had broken it, certainly. She touched bow to strings, playing a fifth. ‘There’s a surgeon on his way, and my men are under orders to do whatever is needful. ".
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