“He knows her to be my sister?”
“Yes, and pitied her, and pity begets love, you know.”
“Does he know aught else about her?”
“What else is there for him to know?”
“Only that she is pure, beautiful, and good, a possessor of a fortune of her own, and mine, for I was disinherited, and that she is the sister of Silk Lasso Sam.”
“I do not believe that he knows aught of her other than that her face shows her virtues, and her tongue has confessed to him the shame of being your sister,” was the studied reply of Nina de Sutro.
The outlaw was deeply impressed by what he had been told by Nina de Sutro. Could it be really true that a man had fallen in love with his sister, knowing nothing more about her than that she was his sister?
Yet when he remembered how lovely she was in face and form, how noble was her nature, and the imprint of her pure soul was stamped upon every feature, he did not wonder that she could win the love of any one. At last, after a silence that began to be painful to Nina de Sutro, in spite of her nerve, and her daring defiance of the man, the outlaw said:
“I am remarkably situated, I think.”
“How so?”