He took his arm from hers and his hands framed her face softly, and pushed the gold hair gently back on her forehead.

But she grew frightened by degrees, for there was a look in his eyes she had never seen there, and that had never been in them before, neither in love nor in battle.

His hands were quite cold, and his face was like a beautiful marble, but there was an evil something in it, as in a fallen angel's, a defiance of God, an irresistible strength to do harm, a terror such as no man would dare to meet.
"You are worth it," he said in a tone so different from his natural voice that Dolores started, and would have drawn back from him, but could not, for his hands held her, shaking a little fiercely.
"What?
What is it ?" she asked, growing more and more frightened--half believing that he was going mad.
"You are worth it," he repeated.

"I tell you, you are worth that, and much more, and the world, and all the world holds for me, and all earth and heaven besides.

You do not know how I love you--you can never guess--" Her eyes grew tender again, and her hands went up and pressed his that still framed her face.
"As I love you--dear love!" she answered, wondering, but happy.
"No--not now.