flushed cheeks, unheeded and unchecked.

"There is no fault in any one; neither could I help it," she murmured.

"No, no; it is not that there is any fault in the ordinary sense; it
is like suicide or any other great, self-inflicted injury with me. I
am different from other men. I shall never recover."

"I know only too well that you are different from other men, and--and
I, too, am different from other women--am I not?"

"Ah, different! There is no other woman in all this wide, long world,"
and they were in each other's arms again. She turned her shoulder to
him and rested with the support of his arms about her. Her eyes were
cast down in silence, and she was evidently thinking as she toyed with
the lace of his doublet. Brandon knew her varying expressions so well
that he saw there was something wanting, so he asked:

"Is there something you wish to say?"

"Not I," she responded with emphasis on the pronoun.

"Then is it something you wish me to say?"

She nodded her head slowly: "Yes."

"What is it? Tell me and I will say it."

She shook her head slowly: "No."