" His hand, that happened to touch mine as he spoke,
was damp and icy cold.
In his life Guy Livingstone had done and dared more than most men, but
he never ventured on any thing so thoroughly brave, and valiant, and
strong-hearted as when he left me, without another word, on that
errand. For myself, though weak both in body and nerve, I swear I would
rather have gone up the breach at Badajoz with the forlorn hope, than up
that bank with the certainty before me of what awaited him.
Trees overhanging, and high walls on either side, and the change from
the bright moonlight, made it so dark just as you approached the inn
that Guy scarcely saw a white figure crouching down a few paces from the
door till he was close upon it.
He threw his arm round Isabel Forrester's waist before she could pass
him. Half his task was done; there was nothing to break to her now. She
understood all when she saw him come back alone.
For a few moments, there they stood in the dark, no word passing between
them; the only sound was her quick panting, as she struggled in his
grasp, battling to get free.
"Isabel," he said, at last, gravely, "come in; I must speak to you."
No answer still, but the same desperate struggle to get loose.
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