What was to become of her, he asked himself wretchedly, and what was to be the end of this mistaken marriage?
He could almost find it in his heart to hate Chris as he drove grimly on through the gathering night, with the slight pressure of Marie's head on his shoulder.
Only nineteen! Only a child still! And a passionate longing to shield her and secure her happiness rose in his heart. He had led a queer life, a selfish life, he supposed, pleasing himself and going his own way in very much the same fashion as Chris Lawless had always done and was still doing, but then he had had no woman to love him or to love—until now, and now . . . Feathers looked down at the delicate little face that lay like a white flower against his rough coat in the moonlight, and he knew with a grim pain that yet was almost welcome to his queer nature that he would give everything in the world if only her happiness could be assured.
CHAPTER XIV
"And I remember that I sat me down
Upon the slope with her, and thought the world
Must be all over, or had never been,
We seemed there so alone."
MARIE did not answer the letter from Chris, and he wrote again two days later, much to her surprise: