She was afraid of him, and gave me her hand
before his face."
"That to me," Glyde said, "is proof positive that she loved him. Of course
she feared him. It is obvious. My poor master!"
Senhouse serenely replied, "She's happy, and I've done her no harm at all.
But it's impossible for me to treat any living creature otherwise than as
my better."
"I believe you," said Glyde, "and so it may be in a rarer world than this.
In this world, however, a man is the most cunning animal, and in that both
are flesh he is the stronger of the sexes. In this world the law is that
the woman follows the man." He thought before he spoke, then added, "That
applies all this world over. You will marry Sanchia."
Senhouse would not look up. He sat, nursing one leg. He bent his brows,
and a hot flush made his skin shine in the firelight.
IV
The poet and his disciple continued their partnership through the sogging
rains of Christmas, well into the chill opening of the new year. Then came
the snow to fill up the valley in which stood the hut, and blur the
outlines of the folded hills. Poetry and Sanchia drew together a pair who
could have little in common.
But Glyde became the slave of the strange man who blended austerity with
charitable judgment, and appeased his passion by blood from his heart.
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