Only her hands were demonstrative--yet
quietly so. Any one watching her closely would have seen that her hands
were sensitive, expressed even more markedly than her eyes or lips what
were her feelings. Her tragedy had altered her in one sense. She was
paler and thinner than ever she had been, but there was enough of her,
and that delicately made, which gave the governor a thrill of desire to
make her his own for the rest of his life or hers. He had also gone
through much since they had last met, and he had seen his own position in
the balance--uncertain, troubled, insecure. He realized that he had lost
reputation, which had scarcely been regained by his consent to the use of
the hounds and giving Dyck Calhoun a free hand, as temporary head of the
militia. He could not put him over the regular troops, but as the
general commanding was, in effect, the slave of Dyck Calhoun, there was
no need for anxiety.
Dyck Calhoun had smashed the rebellion, had quieted the island, had
risen above all the dark disturbances of revolt like a master. He had
established barracks and forts at many points in the island, and had
stationed troops in them; he had subdued Maroons and slaves by the
hounds.
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