The slender hand of Talbot stole into his. It was as cold as ice.
"Talbot!" said Brooke, in a tremulous voice, holding her hand in a firm grasp.
"Well, Brooke."
"Do you understand the danger we are in?"
"Yes, Brooke."
"Do you forgive me for my share in bringing you into it?"
"Brooke," said Talbot, reproachfully, "such a question is ungenerous. I am the only cause of your present danger. If you had been alone, without such a fatal incubus as me, you might easily have escaped; or, rather, you would never have fallen into danger. Oh, I know—I know only too well, that you have thrown away your life—or, rather, risked it—to save me."
As Talbot ended, her voice died away in scarce audible tones, which were full of indescribable pathos.
Brooke gave a short laugh, as usual.
"Pooh!" said he. "Tut—tut; stuff and nonsense. Talbot, the fact is, I've been a blockhead. I've got you into a fix, and you're the sufferer. Now I'm quite ready to die, as I deserve, for getting you into danger; but the mischief of it is, what's going to become of you? I swear to you, Talbot, this is now my only fear."