Before an answer could be given, a tall, fierce-looking woman came out of a booth, or temporary hut, close to the camp-fire, pushed her way through the crowd of men, who fell back respectfully, and, going up to Branwen, grasped her by the wrist.
“Never ye mind what animal she is,” cried the woman, shaking her fist at the man who had spoken, “she is my property.” Then, turning to her captive as she led her into the hut, she said:
“Don’t be afraid, my dear. Black-hearted though some of them are, not one will dare to touch you as long as you are under my protection.”
Chapter Seventeen.
Branwen in Imminent Danger.
It is a wonderful, but at the same time, we think, a universal and important fact, that love permeates the universe. Even a female snail, if we could only put the question, would undoubtedly admit that it loves its little ones.
At least we have the strongest presumption from analogy that the idea is correct, for do we not find lions and tigers, apes and gorillas, engaged in lovingly licking—we don’t mean whipping—and otherwise fondling their offspring? Even in Hades we find the lost rich man praying for the deliverance of his brethren from torment, and that, surely, was love in the form of pity. At all events, whatever name we may give it, there can be no doubt it was unselfish. And even selfishness is love misapplied.
Yes, let us be thankful that in one form or another love permeates the universe, and there is no place, however unfavourable, and no person, however unlikely, that can altogether escape from its benign influence.