“They suffered you to go on account of your terror?  You feigned death?  You took flight?”

“Hardly, neither.”

“Tell me about it,” she said, imperiously.

Though Mr. Raleigh had exchanged the singular reserve of his youth for a well-bred reticence, he scarcely cared to be his own hero.

“Tell me,” said she.  “It will shorten the time; and that is what you are trying to do, you know.”

He laughed.

“It was once when I was obliged to make an unpleasant journey into the interior, and a detachment was placed at my service.  We were in a suspected district quite favorable to their designs, and the commanding officer was attacked with illness in the night.  Being called to his assistance, I looked abroad and fancied things wore an unusual aspect among the men, and sent Capua to steal down a covered path and see if anything were wrong.  Never at fault, he discovered a revolt, with intent to murder my companion and myself, and retreat to the mountains.  Of course there was but one thing to do.  I put a pistol in my belt and walked down and in among them, singled out the ringleader, fixed him with my eye, and bade him approach.  My appearance was so sudden and unsuspected that they forgot defiance.”

“Bien, but I thought you were afraid.”

“So I was.  I could not have spoken a second word.  I experienced intense terror, and that, probably, gave my glance a concentration of which I was unaware and by myself incapable; but I did not suffer it to waver; I could not have moved it, indeed; I kept it on the man while he crept slowly toward me.  I shall never forget the horrible sensation.  I did not dare permit myself to doubt his conquest; but if I had failed, as I then thought, his approach was like the slow coil of a serpent about me, and it was his glittering eyes that had fixed mine, and not mine his.  At my feet, I commanded him, with a gesture, to disarm.  He obeyed, and I breathed; and one by one they followed his example.  Capua, who was behind me, I sent back with the weapons, and in the morning gave them their choice of returning to town with their hands tied behind their backs, or of going on with me and remaining faithful.  They chose the latter, did me good service, and I said nothing about the affair.”

“That was well.  But were you really frightened?”

“So I said.  I cannot think of it yet without a slight shudder.”

“Yes, and a rehearsal.  Your eyes charge bayonets now.  I am not a Sepoy.”

“Well, you are still angry with me?”

“How can I be angry with you?”

“How, indeed?  So much your senior that you owe me respect, Miss Marguerite.  I am quite old enough to be your father.”

“You are, Sir?” she replied, with surprise.  “Why, are you fifty-five years old?”

“Is that Mr. Laudersdale’s age?”

“How did you know Mr. Laudersdale Was my father?”