Lilian is confounded. She makes no effort to release herself, being filled with amazement at the extraordinary change in his manner, and, perhaps, wholly glad of it. Has he forgiven her? Has he repented him of his stern looks and cold avoidance? All night long he has shunned her persistently, has apparently been unaware of her presence; and now there is something in his tone, in his touch, that betrays to her what sets her heart beating treacherously.
Presently Guy becomes aware of this fact, and finding encouragement in the thought that she has not again repulsed him, says, softly:
"Were you frightened when you awoke?"
"Yes, a little."
"You are not frightened now?"
"No, not now. At first, on waking, I started to find myself here."
"Here," may mean the carriage, or her resting-place, or anything.
After a short pause:
"Sir Guy,"—tremulously.
"Yes."