Esmeralda, all unconscious of the emotion that was making his heart beat fiercely, was looking at the horses—they were under her care; but the sudden pressure of his arm, the inaudible whisper, startled her into consciousness to his close proximity. She turned her eyes upon him, and met his gaze, and wonder, surprise, dawned slowly into them.
“Miss Chetwynde—Esmeralda!” he said. “Forgive me!”
Esmeralda put him gently away from her, and taking up the reins, seated herself, and waited; for, innocent as she was, she felt that he was going to say something more.
[CHAPTER XV.]
Esmeralda waited. She was startled, but not frightened; she did not forget that the horses were under her care, and she held them firmly, and looked straight between their ears. The healthy paleness of her face had flushed, but the color had gone again; the long lashes veiled her eyes.
It was some time before Trafford spoke again; it seemed a long time even to him. His own action and his own words had surprised him almost as much as they had surprised Esmeralda; he was full of remorse, for it seemed to him that he had taken advantage of her youth and innocence and had acted and spoken as he would not have done if she had been a girl of his own class and set. At last he said in a grave voice:
“I have frightened you?”
“No, I am not frightened,” said Esmeralda, simply.