She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. “If you cannot listen to me now it must remain undelivered. Did he intend to kill her now, this instant? Or had she a moment or two to try to save herself? Recalling Leonardo’s dictum, she did not struggle, for that would only tighten the trap about her, and perhaps even spring it. He went over her features one by one in his mind. Then instinct took over. My very sentences stumble and give way. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. She tried for her usual confident tone, but only succeeded in sounding gruff, even to her own ears. But he would make it a point not to speak again to the girl. I see that compromise is more necessary to life than I ignorantly supposed it to be, and I have been trying to get Lord Morley’s book on that subject, but it does not appear to be available in the prison library, and the chaplain seems to regard him as an undesirable writer.
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