"
She held out her hand. "Give me the letter."
"Nay," said I; "that would be but thankless work. Knowing me, your
father must needs conceive it his duty to denounce me."
"Give it me!" she insisted; this with an impatient little stamp of the
foot and an upglance of the compelling eyes that would have constrained
me to do a far foolisher thing, had she asked it.
So I gave her the letter and stood aside, hat in hand, while she read
it. There were candles in their sconces over the mantel and she moved
nearer to have the better light. The soft glow of the candles fell upon
her shining hair, and upon cheek and brow; and I could see her bosom
rise and fall with the quick-coming breath, and the pulse throbbing in
her fair white neck. And with the seeing I became a fool of love again
in very earnest, and was within a hair's breadth of sinking honor and
all else in an outpouring of such words as a man may say once to one
woman in all the world--and having said them may never unsay them.
'Twas a most practical little thing she did that saved me from falling
headlong into this last ditch of dishonor. Twisting the letter into a
spill she stood on tiptoe to light it at one of the candles, saying:
"'Twas a foolish thing to put on paper, and might well hang the writer
in such times as these. He says you are a king's man and well known to
him, and you are neither." But when the letter was a crisp of blackened
paper-ash she turned upon me, and once again the changeful eyes were
cold and her words were stranger-formal.
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