Not that his early passion for the Indian
girl had died a natural death. On the contrary it had been fanned into
fresh flame by the novel charm of her sweet approachableness. None the
less, but rather all the more clearly, he saw the detestable
selfishness of his own course. But, unfortunately, his tenderness for
her kept pace with his self-contempt. His feelings toward Helene and
Wanda at the present moment were just such as a man might entertain
toward the enemy who had conquered him, and the woman who, in his
greatest need, had succoured and saved him. For the one a bitterness
that could not rise to the crowning revenge of forgiveness, for the
other a passion of gratitude that would last a life-time.
"It appears to me," said Ridout, who was the most outspoken of the
party, "that we have a precious dull time of it in the evenings.
Macleod, here, is about as talkative as the deer he has slain."
The trio had been smoking in silence before a huge fire, but this
reference to Edward's great exploit of the day roused them to
conversation.
"It is no unusual thing for Macleod to distinguish himself in that
direction," said Boulton, the elder of the two.
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