She lunged without warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to retreat backwards up the little stair. Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, she felt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room—if only in the loneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousands of miles from home. It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock. All the money he earned—serving McClintock and the muse—could be laid away. “Come upstairs,” she said, “and I will show you your room.
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