“What?”
“Vengeance!” she said, in a voice of inexpressible mournfulness.
Brandon looked at her wonderingly, not knowing how this young girl could have divined his thoughts. He long remained silent.
Beatrice folded her hands together, and looked pensively at the sea.
“You are a marvelous being,” said Brandon, at length. “Can you tell me any more?”
“I might,” said she, hesitatingly; “but I am afraid you will think me impertinent.”
“No,” said Brandon. “Tell me, for perhaps you are mistaken.”
“You will not think me impertinent, then? You will only think that I said so because you asked me?”
“I entreat you to believe that it is impossible for me to think otherwise of you than you yourself would wish.”
“Shall I say it, then?”