A cold shivering passed over Dunn as he felt the hot tears that fell upon his hand, and a strange sense of weakness oppressed him.
“It will make your task the lighter,” cried she, eagerly, “to know that Jack is a soldier in heart and soul,—brave, daring, and high-hearted, but with a nature gentle as a child's. There was a comrade of his here the other day, one whose life he saved—”
“I have seen Conway,” said Dunn, dryly, while he scanned her features closely.
No change of color nor voice showed that she felt the scrutiny, and in a calm tone she went on: “I know so little of these things that I do not know, if my dear brother were made an officer to-morrow, whether his want of private fortune would prevent his acceptance of the rank, but there surely must be steps of advancement open to men poor as he is.”
“You may trust all to me,” interrupted Dunn. “Once that you consider me as your guardian, I will neglect nothing that concerns you.”
“Oh, how have I deserved such kindness!” cried she, trying to smother her emotion.
“You must call me your guardian, too, and write to me as such. The world is of such a temper that it will serve you to be thought my ward. Even Lady Augusta Arden herself will feel the force of it.” There was a kind of rude energy in the way these last words were uttered that gave them a character almost defiant.
“You are, then, decided that I ought to take the situation?” said she. And already her manner had assumed the deference of one seeking direction.
“Yes, for the present it is all that could be desired. There will be no necessity of your continuing there if it should ever be irksome to you. Upon this, as upon all else, I trust you will communicate freely with me.”
“I should approach an actual duty—a task—with far more confidence than I feel in offering to accommodate myself to the ways and tempers of utter strangers.”