“Sir John,” her aunt repeated, with thin emphasis, “is coming to see your sister. Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. Little did I imagine at the time that it was my own father to whom he referred. As for the patient, his decision was immediate. It was not due to shyness: it was the inherent instinct of the Woman, a protective fear that she must retain some elements of mystery in order to hold the interest of the male. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. “You are coming my way,” Courtlaw answered.
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