Once or twice she commented upon it, but she knew that it was resultant of his fear of her impending departure. I have no right to love you. Wood uttered something like an imprecation. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. Fancying they were alone, Sir Rowland threw aside his cloak, and produced a heavy bag of money, which he flung upon the table; and, when Wild had feasted his greedy eyes sufficiently upon its golden contents, he handed him a pocketbook filled with notes. It was my destiny to have her. She was shifting, moving back.
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