ror of the deep dilated eyes was there reply; they spoke more than any language of the lips.
The Greek laughed softly.
"His brídal-couch made in the nest of his 'assassins!' is stainless and glorified mistress proved the masker of the Silver Ivy! Madame, I think I might let his passion run untroubled, and leave my vengeance to the future—some future when he should reach the truth from some chance word, from some side-wind, and hear the secret that a woman who 'honoured' him never had told all through the days and nights she lived in his sight and slept upon his heart: hear it when he was bound to her beyond escape, and could gain no freedom through knowing her traitress to him as to all others. Ah! I am not so certain that I will not let you wed him. It will be a surer stab to him than comes from steel—that one truth learned too late."
There was a long silence.
She shuddered from head to foot, as though the scorch of a red-hot brand passed over and marked her; then an intense stillness fell upon her—a stillness in which all life seemed frozen in her, and every breath to cease. He waited, mute and patient now.
