“No, no,” muttered Tony, in a faint whisper; “I could not, I could not.”
“Is that old grudge of long ago so deep that time has not filled it up?”
“I could not, I could not,” muttered he, evidently not hearing the words she had just spoken.
“And why not, Tony? Just tell me why not?”
“Shall I tell you, Alice?” said he; and his lip shook and his cheek grew pale as he spoke,—“shall I tell you?”
She nodded; for she too was moved, and did not trust herself to speak.
“Shall I tell you?” said he; and he looked into her eyes with a meaning so full of love, and yet of sorrow, that her cheek became crimson, and she turned away in shame.
“No, Tony,” whispered she, faintly, “better not say—what might pain us both, perhaps.”
“Enough, if you know,” said he, faintly.
“There, see, my friend has lost all patience; come up to the road, Tony. She must see that my interview has been with an English gentleman, and not a brigand chief. Give me your arm, and do not look so sulky.”