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Updated: June 10, 2025
Yet she wanted to tell this man beside her the whole truth, and see what he would do. Would he turn his face away in disgust? What had she a right to tell? She knew well that her father would wish her to keep to that secrecy which so far had sheltered them at least until Jethro Fawe's coming. At last she turned and looked him in the eyes, the flush gone from her face.
In spite of her indignation at the insolent serenade, she thrilled; for the strain of the Past was in her, and it had been fighting with her all night, breaking in upon the Present, tugging at the cords of youth. The man's daring roused her admiration, even as her anger mounted. If her father heard the singing, there could be no doubt that Jethro Fawe's doom would be sealed.
The last voice she would hear before she entered Jethro Fawe's prison was that of the man who represented to her, however vaguely, the life which must be her future the settled life, the life of Society and not of the Saracen. After he had told his boyhood story they sat in silence for a moment or two, then she rose, and, turning to him, was about to speak.
Yet she wanted to tell this man beside her the whole truth, and see what he would do. Would he turn his face away in disgust? What had she a right to tell? She knew well that her father would wish her to keep to that secrecy which so far had sheltered them at least until Jethro Fawe's coming. At last she turned and looked him in the eyes, the flush gone from her face.
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