. . "
* * * * *
"Truly," commented Marlow, "brought to bay was not a bad comparison; a
better one than Mr. Powell was aware of. At that moment the appearance
of Flora could not but bring the tension to the breaking point. She came
out in all innocence but not without vague dread. Anthony's exclamation
on first seeing Powell had reached her in her cabin, where, it seems, she
was brushing her hair. She had heard the very words. "What are you
doing here?" And the unwonted loudness of the voice--his voice--breaking
the habitual stillness of that hour would have startled a person having
much less reason to be constantly apprehensive, than the captive of
Anthony's masterful generosity. She had no means to guess to whom the
question was addressed and it echoed in her heart, as Anthony's voice
always did. Followed complete silence. She waited, anxious, expectant,
till she could stand the strain no longer, and with the weary mental
appeal of the overburdened. "My God! What is it now?" she opened the
door of her room and looked into the saloon. Her first glance fell on
Powell.
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