“Tell me—tell me what I am to do,” said she, placing her hand upon his shoulder.
A beautiful woman in distress might well move the most obdurate heart, the most unimpressionable of the opposite sex to her own.
Mr. Leverall felt a strange thrill pass through his frame. It was the first time the prisoner had been so demonstrative. His pulse quickened as he felt her soft, pliant hand upon his shoulder.
She was not slow to perceive the effect of her wiles. As a cat with slow, noiseless and stealthy steps approaches her prey, so did Laura Stanbridge approach her victim.
She poured forth another piteous and eloquent appeal, and as she did so drew closer to him.
“My guide—my counsellor—my kind and gentle monitor! tell me what I am to do,” said she. “You, who are so wise, have such wondrous powers of perception and penetration, are so well adapted to save and succour one who is at the present moment surrounded with difficulties which appear to be insurmountable.”
“I have already given you the best advice I could offer,” said he, not daring to turn his head and look at the upturned beseeching face of the siren by his side.
“You have caused me solace which can never be forgotten,” she exclaimed, with something like rapture in her tone and manner.
She rested her head on his shoulder, pressing him fondly with her hand on the other.
He did not attempt to withdraw from her embrace. He placed his arm round her waist and drew her towards him.