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516 616 THE POETRAIT OF A LADY. She had a new sensation ; he had never produced it before ; it was a feeling of danger. There was indeed something awful in his persistency. Isabel gazed straight before her ; he with a hand on each knee, leaned forward, looking deeply into her face. The twilight seemed to darken around them. " I want to speak to you," he repeated ; " I have something particular to say. I don't want to trouble you as I did the other day, in Rome. That was no use ; it only distressed you. I couldn't help it ; I knew I was wrong. But I am not wrong now ; please don't think I am," he went on, with his hard, deep voice melting a moment into entreaty. " I came here to-day for a purpose ! it's very different. It was no use for me to speak to you then ; but now I can help you." She could not have told you whether it was because she was afraid, or because such a voice in the darkness seemed of necessity a boon ; but she listened to him as she had never listened before ; his words dropped deep into her soul. They produced a sort of stillness in all her being ; and it was with an effort, in a moment, that she answered him. " How can you help me ? " she asked, in a low tone ; as if she were taking what he had said seriously enough to make the inquiry in confidence. " By inducing you to trust me. Now I know to-day I know. Do you remember what I asked you in Rome? Then I was quite in the dark. But to-day I know on good authority ; every- thing is clear to me to-day. It was a good thing, when you made me come away with your cousin. He was a good fellow he was a noble fellow he told me how the case stands. He explained everything ; he guessed what I thought of you. He was a member of your family, and he left you so long as you should be in England to my care," said Goodwood, as if he were making a great point. " Do you know what he said to me the last time I saw him as he lay there where he died 1 He said ' Do everything you can for her ; do everything she will let you.' " Isabel suddenly got up. " You had no business to talk about me!" " Why iiot wny not, when we talked in that way 1 " he demanded, following her fast. " And he was dying when a man's dying it's different. She checked the movement she had made to leave him ; she was listening more than ever ; it was true that he was not the same as that last time. That had been aimless, fruitless passion ; but at present he had an idea. Isabel