"You wonder what, caro mio?" she enquired.
"I wonder whether you could endure a very great trial—or make a very great sacrifice for my sake!" he said,—then as he saw her expression, he took her little hand and kissed it.
"There! Forgive me! Of course you would!—only you look such a slight thing—such a soft flower of a woman—like a rose-bud to be worn next the heart always—that it seems difficult to picture you as an inflexible heroine under trying circumstances. Yet of course you would be."
"I make no boast, my Aubrey!" she said gently.
He kissed her tenderly,—reverently,—studying her sweet eyes and delicate colouring with all the fond scrutiny of a love which cannot tire of the thing it loves.
"Are you going round to see Angela this morning?" he asked.
"Yes, I always go. She is much better—she sits up a little every day now."
"She says nothing of her assassin?"
"Nothing. But I know him!"
"We all know him!" said Aubrey sternly—"But she will never speak—she will never let the world know!"