“Good heaven, sir,” she said, in a low voice, “I never dreamed of seeing you again!” “Fear nothing,” he replied, in a tone as guarded as hers; “we cannot be observed here—the shrubbery is all around us.—I have come to thank you for the warning you gave me at the inn yesterday.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER VII KISSES “TO thank me?” she repeated, round-eyed. “You mean that is what brings you here—to thank me for such a little thing?” “Not such a little thing, either,” he replied with a smile, as he rose; “the saving, perhaps, of my life and my comrade’s.” “Oh, indeed, yes—a very great thing!—but a little thing to do—so easily done. And to come all the way hither to thank—” She stopped short and looked at him steadily, then blushed deeper. “Oh!—you will think me a fool, sir:—for a moment I believed exactly what you said; I made no allowance for compliment; I am inexperienced, as you can see.” “Nay, but upon my honour I spoke the truth,” he protested in surprise. “Then you indeed came here only to thank me?” “To thank you, but not only that. I came to see and hear you.” “You mean—nothing else—brought you to this neighbourhood?” “Nothing but you. Had I not met you at the inn yesterday, I should now be with my friend, far on the road Southward.” The look of apprehension returned to her face. “Oh, heaven, yes!—the danger you are in! How do you intend to save yourself? Are you not risking your life by remaining in England?” “Pray don’t be alarmed on that score: I have the means of leaving England when the time comes.” “When the time comes? When will that be? What is it that delays you?” He was not prepared with an answer. “Why,—ah—you must know my friend has some matters to settle before he leaves;—we are to sail together, when he is ready.” “Then you should have remained together. Why did you leave him? If what you said is true, you have interrupted your flight—to see me.” “You are worthy of a far greater compliment than that,” said he, as gallantly as the confusion he felt in her presence allowed him to speak. “But if danger came to you through this, how I should have to reproach myself! Oh, I beg you, follow your friend: overtake him. Lose no time: now that you have thanked me, go—go quickly!” “And have you the heart to send me away when I have but just found you?” “Nay, if your life were not at stake—no, I mean not that. I ought not to talk with you—I ought not to stay here.” Trembling, she made to retreat, but he gently interposed. “Nay,” he said, very tenderly, “the ‘oughts’ and ‘ought nots’ of custom do not apply to us, situated as we are. Are you not among people who make you unhappy? Am I not a man whose life you have saved, and who would do anything in the world for you? Can you not trust me as I trust you? Why then shouldn’t you talk with me? Tell me, what if my life were not at stake?”