In the dim light he seemed but the ghost of what she had known, of
what she had thought him--a phantom, growing vaguer, more unreal,
slipping away from her through the fading light. And the impulse to
arouse herself and him from the dim danger--to arrest the spell, to
break it, and seize what was their own in life overwhelmed her; and she
sat up, grasping the great arms of her chair, slender, straight,
white-faced in the gloom.
But he did not stir. Then unreasoning, instinctive fear confused her,
and she heard her own voice, sounding strangely in the twilight:
"What has come between us, Captain Selwyn? What has happened to us?
Something is all wrong, and I--I ask you what it is, because I don't
know. Tell me."
He had lifted his head at her first word, hesitatingly, as though dazed.
"Could you tell me?" she asked faintly.
"Tell you what, child?"
"Why you are so silent with me; what has crept in between us? I"--the
innocent courage sustaining her--"I have not changed--except a little
in--in the way you wished.
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