and I thought to myself that if the Tressillian proved a De Longueville, I could find it in my soul to shoot her without remorse.
But as I turned away from Marc, I came upon her, looking pale and ill enough to satisfy anybody. The color flushed into her cheeks as she saw me; we spoke of the weather, the chances of storm, Floss's new collar, and other trifles; then she asked me, bending over her little dog,—
"Is Captain Staurmgaurn's news true, that your friend has—has been quarrelling with a young Englishman?"
"Yes," I answered. "I wonder Staurmgaurn told you; it is scarcely a topic to interest ladies. Telfer has given the young gentleman a well-merited lesson."
"Have they fought?" she asked, breathlessly, laying her hand on my arm, and looking as white as a ghost.
"Yes, they have," said I; "and he fought, Miss Tressillian, for one who gave him a very cold adieu last night."
Her head drooped, she trembled perceptibly, and the color rushed back to her cheeks.
"Is he safe?" she asked, in the lowest of whispers.
"Quite," I answered, quickly, as De Tintiniac lounged up to us; and I left my words, like a prudent diplomatist, to bear fruit as best they might.
I wondered if she cared for him, or if it was merely a girl's natural feeling for a man who had let himself be shot at, rather than hear a light word spoken of her. But they were both so deuced proud, Heaven's special intervention alone seemed likely to bring them together.