Under the cloud of her hair a slow fire burned in Marette Radisson's cheeks.

But it did not show in her eyes.
They looked at him so steadily, so unfalteringly, that his own face burned before he had finished what was in his mind to say, and he freed her hands and stepped back from her again.
"Forgive me for saying all that," he entreated.

"But it's true.

You came to me there, at Cardigan's place, like something I'd always dreamed about, but never expected to find.

And you came to me again, at the cell, like--" "Yes, I know how I came," she interrupted him.