Then from her new covert of reserve she dared to peer cautiously at him, seeking to know how great was her peril--to learn what measure of defense would best insure her safety--recognising fearfully the traitor in her own heart.
Their first idle talk had died, and she noted with new alarm that they had been silent for many minutes.

This could not safely be--this insidious, barrier-destroying silence.

She seemed to hear his heart beating high from his own sense of peril.

But would he help her?
Would he not rather side with that wretched traitor within her, crying out for the old days--would he not still be the proud fool who would suffer no man's law but his own?
She shivered at the thought of his nearness--of his momentous silence--of his treacherous ally.
She stirred in her chair to look in where Clytie bustled between kitchen and dining-room.

Her movement aroused him from his own abstraction.