wounded heart. They both felt bruised and wretched, and deeply ashamed
and offended. And then they looked at each other, and Jenny gave a
smothered sob. It was all that was needed; for Keith was beside her in
an instant, holding her unyielding body, but murmuring gentle coaxing
words into her ear. In an instant more Jenny was crying in real earnest,
buried against him; and her tears were tears of relief as much as of
pain.




CHAPTER IX: WHAT FOLLOWED


i

The _Minerva_ slowly and gently rocked with the motion of the current.
The stars grew brighter. The sounds diminished. Upon the face of the
river lights continued to twinkle, catching and mottling the wavelets.
The cold air played with the water, and flickered upon the _Minerva's_
deck; strong enough only to appear mischievous, too soft and wayward to
make its presence known to those within. And in the _Minerva's_ cabin,
set as it were in that softly rayed room of old gold and golden brown,
Jenny was clinging to Keith, snatching once again at precarious
happiness. Far off, in her aspirations, love was desired as synonymous
with peace and contentment; but in her heart Jenny had no such pretence.
She knew that it was otherwise. She knew that passive domestic enjoyment
would not bring her nature peace, and that such was not the love she
needed. Keith alone could give her true love. And she was in Keith's
arms, puzzled and lethargic with something that was only not despair