‘As how?’ asked he, with a touch of tenderness in his voice.
For a second or two she made no answer, and then, faltering at each word, she said, ‘What if some rebel leader—this man Donogan, for instance—drawn towards you b some secret magic of trustfulness, moved by I know not what need of your sympathy—for there is such a craving void now and then felt in the heart—should tell you some secret thought of his nature—something that he could utter alone to himself—would you bring yourself to use it against him? Could you turn round and say, “I have your inmost soul in my keeping. You are mine now—mine—mine?”’
‘Do I understand you aright?’ said he earnestly. ‘Is it just possible, even possible, that you have that to confide to me which would show that you regard me as a dear friend?’
‘Oh! Mr. Walpole,’ burst she out passionately, ‘do not by the greater power of your intellect seek the mastery over mine. Let the loneliness and isolation of my life here rather appeal to you to pity than suggest the thought of influencing and dominating me.’
‘Would that I might. What would I not give or do to have that power that you speak of.’
‘Is this true?’ said she.
‘It is.’
‘Will you swear it?’
‘Most solemnly.’
She paused for a moment, and a slight tremor shook her mouth; but whether the motion expressed a sentiment of acute pain or a movement of repressed sarcasm, it was very difficult to determine.