'What hurts me ?' I thought.

My physical pride was up, and I looked on the cattle in black corners of the fields, and here and there a man tumbled anyhow, a wreck of limbs, out of the insupportable glare, with an even glance.

Not an eye was lifted on me.
I saw nothing that moved until a boat shot out of the bight of sultry lake-water, lying close below the dark promontory where I had drawn rein.

The rower was old Schwartz Warhead.

How my gorge rose at the impartial brute! He was rowing the princess and a young man in uniform across the lake.
That they should cross from unsheltered paths to close covert was reasonable conduct at a time when the vertical rays of the sun were fiery arrow-heads.