“I will come to you if—”
Richard’s face had kindled in turn, and his eyes had caught the light in the woman’s. He held his breath, and found himself trembling as he looked at her.
“On my honor, you shall be safe at Rodenham.”
She laughed, and moved nearer to him, her mouth and chin upturned to his.
“I hate Dan,” she said.
“Yes?”
“I did not dream of him on St. Agnes’s night. It was of you, Mr. Jeffray. I dreamed that I was gathering herbs in the ruins here, and that I picked a great, red flower that turned to blood in my hand. Then—I saw you standing in the doorway yonder—looking at me, and then—I awoke.”
Richard gazed at her. She was very near to him, so near that he almost felt her breath upon his mouth. He forgot Miss Jilian utterly for the moment in the near splendor of this woman’s face.
“I shall pray to St. Agnes, Bess,” he said.
She smiled at him wonderfully with her eyes.