" "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. She’ll have to wait for dinner,” he said, uncomfortably. This light did not remain stationary, but could be seen at one moment glimmering through the rents in the roof, and at another shining through the cracks in the wall, or the broken panes of the casement. But there was something else; and in his befogged mental state the comparison eluded him. Who says that I am not Meysey Hill? I was trying to scare you. I have always managed to survive, haven’t I?” She was eager to stop talking about her parents. She had never dreamed of such decadence, never imagined that young people could be so happy and healthy. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. "Can you not love him?" "Love him!" echoed the widow. The back windows of the houses (where any such existed) were strongly barricaded, and kept constantly shut; and the fortress was, furthermore, defended by high walls and deep ditches in those quarters where it appeared most exposed.
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