So much had occurred and she felt so old this morning;
and yet there was in her heart the undefined feeling that she must keep
her radiant Spring of life for the blind Gorgio if he needed it-if he
needed it. Would he need it, robbed of sight and with his life-work
murdered?
She shuddered as she thought of what it meant to him. If a man is to
work, he must have eyes to see. Yet what had she to do with it, after
all? She had no right to go to him even as she was going. Yet had she not
the right of common humanity? This Gorgio was her friend. Did not the
world know that he had saved her life?
As they came to the Lebanon end of the bridge, Fleda turned to Jowett
and, commenting on his description of the scene at Barbazon, said: "He is
a great man, but he trusts too much and risks too much. That was no place
for him."
"Big men like him think they can do anything," Jowett replied, a little
ironically, subtly trying to force a confession of her preference for
Ingolby.
He succeeded. Her eye lighted with indignation. She herself might
challenge him, but she would not allow another to do so.
"It is not the truth," she rejoined sharply. "He does not measure himself
against the world so. He is like--like a child," she added.
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