If only the tears had come then, all might have been well; but the springs were parched,—dried up by the heat of her indignation, and it was fire and not moisture that shone in her eyes. Jagger faced the storm, and like Lot’s wife when the ashes of Sodom fell on her, was turned to stone. Too late he remembered his father’s caution, the torrent of his temper had passed the sluice-gates and could not be recalled though its force was spent. For a few moments he remained immovable whilst the fierce anger of the girl he loved expended itself in words that battered and dulled his senses without reaching his understanding; then with a groan he turned away like a fool, and stumbled up the hillside to the road. Yet though his spirits were heavy as lead, it was upon the girl and not him that the catastrophe fell with crushing weight. Bitterly as he cursed the fate that had parted them again in anger, he was too sure of his love for her, too convinced of her love for him, to doubt that the hour of their reconciliation was only delayed; and the thought that was uppermost in his mind as he neared his home was of his father’s kindly scorn—a scorn that cut across the soul sometimes like the lash of a whip. Nancy read the situation more truly, though perhaps she did not read it at all, but just listened to the malevolent inward voice that told her the breach was widened beyond repair at last. She was heartsick, and nursed an anger that would not be pacified: the anger of self-reproach and humiliation; and as she stood there with set teeth and clenched hands, breathing like one who endures severe physical pain and is restraining the impulse to cry aloud, she knew that she would not marry Jagger Drake, and that the fault was hers, no less than his. Instinctively she realised that the moment of reconciliation had passed and would not return; and for a while she was stunned; conscious of nothing but shame and bitter resentment. She hated Jagger, but not as bitterly as she hated herself.