CHAPTER XIII
THE DAY OF WRATH
Three times they were obliged to change cars after passing through Utrecht. Night fell; the last compartment into which they had been crowded was filled with Dutch cavalry officers, big, talkative fellows in their field uniforms and jingling equipments, civil to Guild, courteous to Karen, and all intensely interested in the New York newspaper which Guild offered them and which they all appeared to be quite able to read.
They all got out at Maastricht, where the lantern-lit platform was thronged with soldiers; and, when the train started, the two were alone together once more.
They had been seated side by side when the officers were occupying the compartment; they remained so when the train rolled out of the station, neither offering to move, perhaps not thinking to move.
Karen's Tauchnitz novel lay open on her lap, her eyes brooded over the pages, but the light was very dim and presently she lay back, resting her arm on the upholstered window ledge.
Guild had been sitting so very still beside her that she suspected he was asleep. And when she was sure of it she permitted herself closer scrutiny of his features than she had ever ventured.
Curiosity was uppermost. To inspect at her leisure a man who had so stirred, so dominated, so ruled and misruled her was most interesting.