He touched it very lightly, but instead of retaining it, as she doubtless expected, drew back—as if to avoid temptation, she seemed to think, for she said haughtily:
'You forget yourself, sir, or me!'
'Would that I could do so!' said Cecil.
The gentleness of his tone, the sadness and bewilderment of his air, touched her; she took his hand deliberately in both hers, and kissing him on the forehead with warm and throbbing lips, said:
'My brother's preserver and my brother's friend! I repeat that I have come to serve you and save you, if I may—to see you and comfort you at least, in a land where you are so utterly friendless.'
Her voice broke a little.
'By whose permission did you reach me?' asked Cecil hastily, and apparently oblivious of her emotion.
'That of Tchernaieff—he could not refuse me.'
'Who that looked upon your face could refuse you anything!' he exclaimed, more in a spirit of gallantry than anything else.
'I detest compliments; so seek not to flatter me.'