The things we do!

She felt abandoned, forsaken, not pausing to reflect that now she had
only what she had demanded of her late companion,--guardian, she now
hastily called him, and not jailer. Unconsciously she half-arose,
would have left the room. Her soul was filled with an instinctive,
unformulated dread.
As to Dunwody himself, ruthless and arrogant as was his nature, he
bore no trace of imperiousness now. The silent lips and high color
of the face before him he did not interpret to mean terror, but
contempt. In the fortunes of chance he had won her. In the game
of war she was his prisoner. Yet no ancient warrior of old, rude,
armored, beweaponed, unrelenting, ever stood more abashed before
some high-headed woman captive. He had won--what? Nothing, as he
knew very well, beyond the opportunity to fight further for her,
and under a far harder handicap, a handicap which he had foolishly
imposed on himself. This woman, seen face to face, yes, she was
beautiful, desirable, covetable.


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