The steady grasp of his hand and the
exceedingly practical tones of his voice kept her from unreasoning
panic; but she was too greatly astounded to respond very promptly.
"Tell me what you think about it," he said gently.
But she was utterly at a loss to describe her feelings. She shook her
head and was silent.
After a little he went on, still quickly, but with less impetuosity.
"It isn't just a sudden fancy of mine--this. Don't think it. There's
nothing capricious about me. Your father knew about it. And because he
knew, he put you in my care. It was his sole reason for trusting you
to me. I had his full approval."
He paused, for her fingers had closed suddenly within his own. She
was looking at him no longer. Her memory had flashed back to that last
terrible night of her father's life. Again she heard him telling her
of the one man to whom he had entrusted her, who would make it his
sole business to save her, who would protect her life with his own,
heard his speculative question as to whether she knew whom he meant,
recalled her own quick reply, and his answer--and his answer.
With a sudden sense of suffocation, she freed her hand and rose. Once
more her old aversion to this man swept over her in a nauseating wave.
Once more there rose before her eyes the dread vision which for many,
many nights had haunted her persistently, depriving her of all
rest, all peace of mind--the vision of a man in his death-struggle,
fighting, agonising, under those merciless fingers.
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