She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. She floundered deep. A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. ” She was frightened—his anger always did frighten her—and in her resolve to conceal her fright she carried a queen-like dignity to what she felt even at the time was a preposterous pitch. Sheppard looked fixedly at him, as if she would penetrate the gloomy depth of his soul. Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face.
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