Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. He was caressing an idea. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. ‘You do not want to be a nun,’ he said now, and Melusine noted with a prick at her senses the irritation in his tone. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it. Twice she smiled, but not unkindly. Mr. Manned by a couple of watermen, who rowed with great swiftness, this wherry dashed through the current in the track of the fugitive, of whom it was evidently in pursuit, and upon whom it perceptibly gained. It was a tale of battle, murder, and sudden death on the New York waterfront. It was intolerable to think that he might overhear words and phrases. He touched her breast as if he was testing the waters of a cold lake.
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