"I don't know what to think," she murmured.
They were standing close together. Suddenly the sense of her nearness in the dark, the delicate emanation of her hair, of her whole person, overwhelmed his senses like a wave.
"Oh, my darling," he murmured brokenly. "Those devils outside can only kill me once. You make me die a thousand deaths!"
"Ah, don't!" she whispered sharply. "Not now. First, I must believe in you!"
He beat down the passion that dizzied him. He sought for her hand and gripped it firmly. She allowed it. "Listen," he said. "Take me into the light and look in my eyes."
Her hand turned in his and took command of it, drawing him after her. Crossing the stair-hall they entered the dining-room. Colina closed the door and lighted the lamp.
Ambrose gazed at her hungrily. She came to him straight and, offering him both her hands, looked deep into his eyes.
"Now tell me," she murmured.
This was the real Colina, simple as a child. Her eyes—the lamp being behind her—showed as deep and dark as the night sky.
Her lovely face yearned up to his, and Ambrose's self-command tottered again—but this was no moment for passion. His voice shook, but his eyes were as steady as hers.