Mr. Raleigh gazed in the innocent eyes a moment, to seek the extent of
her meaning, and felt, that, should he take advantage of her childlike
forgetfulness, he would be only reenacting the part he had so much
condemned in one man years before. So he merely bent low over the hand
that lay in his, raised it, and touched his lips to that. In an instant
the color suffused her face, she snatched the hand away, half rose
trembling from her seat, then sank into it again.
"_Soit, Monsieur!_" she exclaimed, abruptly. "But you have not told me
the danger."
"It will not alarm you now?" he replied, laughing.
"I have said that I am not a coward."
"I wonder what you would think of me when I say that without doubt I
am."
"You, Mr. Raleigh?" she cried, astonishment banishing anger.
"Not that I betray myself. But I have felt the true heart-sinking. Once,
surprised in the centre of an insurrection, I expected to find my hair
white as snow, if I escaped."
"Your hair is very black. And you escaped?"
"So it would appear."
"They suffered you to go on account of your terror? You feigned death?
You took flight?"
"Hardly, neither."
"Tell me about it," she said, imperiously.
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