Caius could not unravel this, and yet, deep within him, he knew that there was consistency in it.

Had she not said that love in itself was good?
it must be good, then, both to the giver and receiver.

He felt a certain awe at finding his own poor love embraced in such a doctrine; he felt for the first time how gross and selfish, how unworthy, it was.
It was now the end of March; the snow was melting; the ice was breaking; it might be three or four weeks before ships could sail in the gulf, but it would not be longer.

There was no sign of further outbreak of diphtheria upon the island.

Caius felt the time of his going home to be near; he was not glad to think of leaving his prison of ice.