“Aurora, look in my face,” he said, seizing both her hands as she ceased speaking.
She did look in his face with a glance that ought to have shamed him—a glance, smiling, fond, and yet so void of evil. He might have searched in those eyes till doomsday, and found nothing there but a beautiful reflection of himself.
“Aurora, you have repeated these heathenish words before!”
He made the assertion somewhat faintly, for something in her look half-smothered the suspicion as it arose to his lips.
“Before! when?” she answered, in smiling surprise.
“To Chaleco, perhaps.”
“To Chaleco—oh, never; I could not speak thus to Chaleco,” and the poor girl shuddered at the sound of that name, as an apostate would when reminded of his old faith.
“But—your chief, this Chaleco, he has uttered them to you.”
“He—where—at what time?”
“Here, perhaps, by moonlight, as you are now standing by me.”