Her opposition to his determination had ceased, not because her will was conquered, but because she was without an alternative course to cling to, without a purpose to oppose to his. She was weary and hungry. She had rambled for many hours before Cleverdon had discovered her, and had eaten nothing. Fatigued and faint, she was glad to rest on the stone, and to be left alone, that she might unobserved give way to the tears of annoyance and anger that welled up in her heart. In an access of inconsiderate wrath--wrath is ever inconsiderate--she had run away from home--run from a sick mother--and she was now reaping the vexations that followed on what she had done. Her annoyance was aggravated, not tempered, by the thought that no one was to blame for the unpleasant predicament in which she was placed but her own self. As Urith sat, awaiting the return of Anthony, gazing around her, it appeared to her that the scene could hardly be more awful at the consummation of all things. The whole of the world, as far as she could see, was on fire; it looked as if a black crust were formed over an inner glowing core, like the coal-dust clotted in a blacksmith's forge above the burning interior. There were wandering sparks ranging over it, and here and there a quiver of lurid flame. All that was needed to excite to universal conflagration was a thrust with an iron rod, a blast of concentrated wind, and then the crust would break up, and through its rents would flare out rays of fire too dazzling to look upon, that would swallow up all darkness and dissolve mountain and granite into liquid incandescent lava, and dry up every river with a breath. There was water near the rock where Urith sat, and she again unwound her hands and dipped the bandages in the cool stream. She was thus engaged, when softly over the velvet turf came Anthony, leading his horse. "Let me look," said he, bluntly; "let me tie up your rags. How did you injure your knuckles?" She obediently held out her hands. "I did it myself." "How? Against the rocks?" "No--with my teeth." "What! You bit your hands?" "Yes. I bit my hands. I was in a rage." "We men," said Anthony, "when we are angry, hurt each other, but you women, I suppose, hurt your own selves?" "Yes. We have not the strength or the means to hurt others. Not that we lack the will--so we hurt ourselves. I would rather have bitten some one else, but I could not, so I tore my own hands--with my teeth." "You are strange beings, you women," said Anthony. Then he threw the bridle on the ground, and set his foot on it, so as to disengage his own hands. He took hold of Urith's wrist, and the kerchiefs, one after the other, and arranged the bandages, and fastened them firmly. Whilst thus engaged, he suddenly looked up, and caught her sombre eyes fixed intently on him. "Would you hurt me--bite and mangle me?" he asked, with a laugh. "Yes--if you gave me occasion." "And if I gave you opportunity?"