Her clinging hold then made me feel perhaps a little of what Miss Sampson's must have been to Steele.
How different the feeling when it was mine! I could have thrust them apart, after all my schemes and tricks, to throw them together, in vague, undefined fear of their embrace.

Still, when love beat at my own pulses, when Sally's soft hand held me tight and she leaned to me--that was different.

I was glad to be led away--glad to have a chance to pull myself together.

But was I to have that chance?
Sally, who in the stife of emotion had been forgotten, might have to be reckoned with.

Deep within me, some motive, some purpose, was being born in travail.