She turned, smiling, her beauty flashing up at me with a power quite irresistible. I shut my eyes a moment, summoning all my forces. There was only a step between me and—God knows what!
"Captain, you are a foolish fellow," said she, with a little shudder. "And I—well, I am cold. Parbleu! feel my hand."
She had drawn her glove quickly, and held out her hand, white and beautiful, a dainty finger in a gorget of gems. That little cold, trembling hand seemed to lay hold of my heart and pull me to her. As my lips touched the palm I felt its mighty magic. Dear girl! I wonder if she planned that trial for me.
"We must—ride—faster. You—you—are cold," I stammered.
She held her hand so that the sunlight flashed in the jewels, and looked down upon it proudly.
"Do you think it beautiful?" she asked.
"Yes, and wonderful," I said. "But, mark me, it is all a sacred trust—the beauty you have."
"Sacred?"
