XVIII
BLIGHT
By the time he got back to the farm-house, the woman was up, dressed in the rent and stained but dry remnants of her own clothing (for all their defects, infinitely more becoming than the garments to which she had been obliged to resort the previous day) and busy preparing breakfast.
There was no question but that her rest had been sound and undisturbed. If her
recuperative powers had won his envy before, now she was wholly marvellous
in his eyes. Her radiant freshness dazzled, her elusive but absolute quality of charm bewitched—and her high spirits dismayed him. He entered her presence
reluctantly, yielding alone to the spur of necessity. To keep out of her way was
not only an impossibility, but would have served to rouse her suspicions; and she
must not know: however
