The consciousness of a change, which she could not readily define, in her feelings toward Alfred Clarke, vexed and irritated her.

Why did she think of him so often?
True, he had saved her brother's life.
Still she was compelled to admit to herself that this was not the reason.

Try as she would, she could not banish the thought of him.
Over and over again, a thousand times, came the recollection of that moment when he had taken her up in his arms as though she were a child.

Some vague feeling stirred in her heart as she remembered the strong yet gentle clasp of his arms.
Several times from her window she had seen him coming across the square between the fort and her brother's house, and womanlike, unseen herself, she had watched him.

How erect was his carriage.