'The depth, the roar of the waters, will daze you.' Against his burning palm, her hand was cool as a lily leaf.

He did not release it, though he knew that _his_ peril from that maidenly touch was greater far than hers from the gulf before them.

Veranilda, accepting his protection with the thoughtlessness of a child, leaned forward, uttering her wonder and her admiration.

He, the while, watched her lips, fed his eyes upon her cheek, her neck, the golden ripples of her hair.

At length she gently offered to draw her hand away.