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 made her knees a comfortable rest for his head, and ran her fingers through his hair.

“I should like Mary to stroke my head like that,” Ralph thought to himself suddenly, and he looked at Christopher, almost affectionately, for calling forth his sister’s caresses. Instantly he thought of Katharine, the thought of her being surrounded by the spaces of night and the open air; and Mary, watching him, saw the lines upon his forehead suddenly deepen. He stretched out an arm and placed a log upon the fire, constraining himself to fit it carefully into the frail red scaffolding, and also to limit his thoughts to this one room.

Mary had ceased to stroke her brother’s head; he moved it impatiently between her knees, and, much as though he were a child, she began once more to part the thick, reddish-coloured locks this way and that. But a far stronger passion had taken possession of her soul than any her brother could inspire in her, and, seeing Ralph’s change of expression, her hand almost automatically continued its movements, while her mind plunged desperately for some hold upon slippery banks.