She had treated him badly; she had hurt him and her aunt; she had done wrong by their standards, and she would never persuade them that she had done right. Too intent on her search, and convinced besides that she was quite alone, she had been an easy prey. She looked at him as he thrust deeply, his face contorted with pleasure as he watched her riding him. Spurlock looked up. I am quite indiscriminate, I assure you. When it's done, I'll push you through. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. She was quite oblivious to the sensation she had created. He renewed his supplications to Sharples, but with no better success than heretofore; and the greater part of the night was passed by him and the poor widow, whose anxiety, if possible, exceeded his own, in the most miserable state imaginable.
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