The opportunity for meetings between Cimon and Ladice had been very rare since the former wished as far as possible to avoid meeting Themistocles. The young man had conscientiously endeavored to rectify the harm that he had done against the older man, but the populace preferred to believe the evil charge which was still vigorously promoted by Leobotes and other newly-won conspirators.
Joan had to tell some one. She turned about towards the house, but long before she could find a hearer her sorrowful news burst through her. Aunt Phœbe writing Ruskinian about the marvellous purity of childish intuitions was suddenly disturbed by the bitter cry of Niobe Joan going past beneath the window. Joan had a voluminous voice when she was fully roused.
"But your father would never stand in the way of your happiness, surely?" he argued.
The leader whirled on the youth and snarled an order. He lowered the rifle, muttering. Blackbeard turned back to Retief.
“Then you know they will think wrong, Markham!” she cried, almost with violence, keeping herself with a most strenuous effort from an outburst of indignant weeping. He did not reply at once; and she thought he was about to consider the question on its merits, and endeavour to find out what he could do. But she was undeceived when he spoke.
"But if you would so much sooner I didn't come ..." he conceded humbly.
Vanderhoef broke off. Grabo knew he had been going to say something improper but from the heart, such as, "For God's sake don't blow this game out of nervousness now that you have a win in sight"—and this sympathy somehow made the Hungarian furious.
Nevertheless, if their faces did seem white, their teeth were grimly set, and it was evident they did not mean to allow any squeamishness to prevent them from accomplishing the Samaritan work they had set out to perform.
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