If a cart were coming, or those labourers in the field had heard, escape was impossible. Hartford had a very respectable sound. He tore it down just as the Wastrel rose, wavering slightly. “That,” she answered, “is far easier to believe. “Ass!” he went on, still warming. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. ” She let him make love to her that night.
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