Closely she scanned the mask. It was impenetrable. He could meet her eyes, and respond to the pressure of her hand, and smile, and not show what he felt. Nor did he deem it hypocritical to seek to maintain his elevation in her soft soul, by simulating supreme philosophy over offended love. Nor did he know that he had an angel with him then: a blind angel, and a weak one, but one who struck upon his chance.
"Am I pardoned for coming to you?" she said, after a pause.
"Surely I can read my Emmeline's intentions," he gently replied.
"Very poor ones. I feel my weakness. I cannot utter half I have been thinking. Oh, if I could!"
"You speak very well, Emmeline."
"At least, I am pardoned!"
"Surely so."
"And before I leave you, dear friend, shall I be forgiven?—may I beg it?—will you bless him?"
He was again silent.
"Pray for him, Austin! pray for him ere the night is over."