anything more than brutal passion or callous amusement? And hearts were
broken and lives were ruined to bring men sport.

She clenched her hands, still gazing at the wild white roses with their
orange scent of purity. Why had he sent them? What had moved him to
gather them? He who had bargained with her, had wrung from her
submission to his will as it were at the sword's point! He who had
forced her to promise herself to him! What was love--or the making of
love--to such as he?

The sweetness of the flowers seemed to pierce her. Ah, if they had only
been Knight's gift, how different--how different--had been all things.

But they had come from Rufus. And so somehow their message passed her
by. The blackness of utter misery, utter hopelessness, closed in like a
prison-cell around her soul.




CHAPTER XII

THE SAFE HAVEN


In the days that followed, Mrs. Peck's honest soul was both vexed and
anxious concerning her charge. She found Columbine extraordinarily
reticent. As she herself put it, it was impossible to get any sense out
of her.