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And she had never really loved him. That was another of the things she saw clearly. She had married him because his strength and good looks, his ardent wooing, had turned her head, because she had been weak and he had been masterful. But she had never loved him.His headache had passed off, and he felt a man again; so he sought the woman. She lived in a small old house wedged tight between two new ones; her window was dark, and her threshold silent, though he knocked again and again. He walked up and down once or twice in front of the cottage whistling "Ropes and Rum"��perhaps she had gone to do some shopping; he saw himself sitting down to a feast of pickled herrings in her kitchen."And does your abbot think, when the hope of my house has perished, whether by false incantations or deadly poison, that����Depart, monk!" continued he, in a choked voice, "and tell your abbot that this woman's guilt or innocence shall be tried by the laws of the realm."Harry was no more his mother's favourite son. She was not the type of woman to whom a maimed child is dearer than half a dozen healthy ones. On the contrary he filled her with a vague terror and repulsion. She spoke to him gently, tended him carefully, even[Pg 102] sometimes forced herself to caress him��but for the most part she avoided him, feeling as she did so a vague shame and regret.She tried to speak, but the words burnt up in her mouth.<000005>