167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. He was a bad dog; he knew it perfectly; but where there was laughter, there was hope. He ignored her protests in order to pursue some impressive line of his own. His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed. Who were you looking for tonight? One of the émigrés? There were several in there. ” He released her hand and talked in eager undertones against an auditory background of urgency and distress. Am I mistaken? Is your heart mine?" "It is—it is; and has ever been," replied Winifred, falling upon his neck. Wrap yourself in my cloak, and keep it.
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