His voice sank melodiously low.
“I mean I think you would not care, Miss Delia, for the man who has left us to be massacred by the Campbells—you would like to think he and his clan were safe.”
Delia went white and clutched at the edge of the mantelpiece; she stared with widened eyes at the beautiful face of the man opposite.
“You know,” she said at length, “you are very gallant with my folly, Mr. Caryl.”
“My sweet friend,” he answered, “your folly is a lovely thing—this man is honored by your consideration and I by leave to help you—you have a tenderness toward the life you saved; believe me it does you credit.”
A look of relief crossed her face, she gave a little gasping sigh.
“You are generous,” she said falteringly, “and I foolish—and ashamed—”
“I have seen strange things in an adventurer’s career, Miss Delia,” he smiled, “but never any one ashamed with no cause.”
She stood abashed, yet comforted; gratitude that he had not guessed and fear that he might struggled together at her heart; she resolved on escape.
“Good-night,” she said, and held out her hand.