I was selfish in thinking
that--that I--might--"
There was a pitiful quivering in the corners of her mouth. Courtenay
felt her hand tremble.
"Be a brave girl, Elsie," he murmured. "You must go now. Have no
fear. We are in God's care. May His angels watch over you!"
"But you, you will not risk your life? What shall we do if anything
happens to you?"
She was strung to that tense pitch when unguarded speech bubbles forth
the soul's secrets. All she knew was that Courtenay was looking at her
as a man looks at the woman he loves. And that sufficed. The mere
sound of her name on his lips was music. He told her to go, yet held
her hand a willing prisoner. His words had the sound of a prayer, but
it was the orison of a knight to his lady. He bade her fear not, while
he trembled a little himself, though she well knew it was not fear
which shook him. Neither of them paid heed to the presence of Suarez.
For an instant they had a glimpse of heaven, but the curiously harsh
voice of the Spanish miner fell on their ears, and they came back to
earth with a sudden drop.
"The Feathered People are singing their war chant," he said, and his
gesture seemed to ask them to listen.
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