But
aren't there some as might be tempted by the money? And might the
English not have spies?"
"Perhaps," said the fisherman thoughtfully. "The arm of the Devil is
long, and no denying. But you'll have naught to fear of that tonight.
I live quite alone, as you see, and in the morning there'll be a fog
to blot out the sun." He said this with confidence, as one who had
seen it a thousand times before.
Then extinguishing his pipe against the wooden arm of the chair, he
rose as if to go inside, with an open hand indicating the door. "Right
now I imagine you're hungry, and might do with a mug of stout?"
"Yes. Thank you." No other words would form, as he felt his throat
tighten with emotion. They walked through the painted doorway, and
into the shelter of stone.
In troubled dream Mary lay upon the bed, restlessly turning. Words and
pictures of the day would appear to her, soft and lovely---riding
through the magnificent countryside, feeling him close beside
her---till with a start she felt again the claw-like hand upon her
breast, and beheld the iron gaze which knew no entreaty.
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