Section 2. Conscience drove him to this side of the world, to this bed. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish. Marvel, who proceeded to the cart, and took his seat upon the coffin. The intruder was handsomely, even richly, attired in a scarlet riding-suit, embroidered with gold; a broad belt, to which a hanger was attached, crossed his shoulders; his boots rose above his knee, and he carried a laced hat in his hand. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. "I knew that would bring him to," thought Wild. “He ran some Austrian fellow off. She wanted air—and the distraction of having moving and changing things about her. Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living.
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