His heart beat tumultuously, his hand trembled, he grew suddenly weak; but he summoned up his will, and ruled himself to something like composure.

This, then, was his home-coming from the far miseries and trials and battle-fields--to see her face before all others, to hear her voice first.

What miracle had brought this thing to pass, this beautiful, bitter, forbidden thing?
Forbidden! Whatever the cause of her coming, she must not see what he felt for her.

He must deal fairly by her and by Eglington; he must be true to that real self which had emerged from the fiery trial in the monastery.

Bronzed as he was, his face showed no paleness; but, as he drew near her, it grew pinched and wan from the effort at self-control.