Most subjects of any depth were taboo between them, especially when they were in his convertible. He depended upon her, for his medicine, for his drink, for the little amusement it was now permissible to give him. There was a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found his hand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of the mountain. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. "Can you not love him?" "Love him!" echoed the widow.
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