"Of course I forgive you," she exclaimed. "Your fear is no greater
than my own. I am a woman, and dread this sort of thing. All that
gives me courage is the knowledge that death is preferable to
dishonour," her voice lost its firmness, "and--and my faith in a man."
"You mean in possible rescue?"
Her eyes lifted to his face.
"Yes, Mr. Cavendish. It may prove all imagination, yet there is one--a
real man, I am sure--who must know of my plight before this. If he
does, and lives, he will come to me. If we can only defend ourselves
long enough there will be rescue."
He hesitated, yet something told him this was no time to fear asking
all.
"Surely you are not married? Of course not; then he----"
"Is merely a friend; no, there has been no other word spoken between
us, yet," her voice trembling slightly, "there are secrets a woman
knows instinctively without speech. I know this man cares--enough to
come. Isn't that strange, Mr. Cavendish, when we have only met three
times?"
"No," he said gallantly, "not to any one who has known you.
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