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 "In the evening," he continued, "I shall send word of what I have to-night learned to the authorities." She did not reply.

"I tell ye this, mam'selle, in gratitude. If it were possible, for me to keep silence and retain me honor; if it were possible, for me to keep silence and do me duty by me fellow men—believe me, mam'selle, I would do that. It is not possible. This monstrous crime that is here plotted must be crushed. … And so I give ye time, mam'selle, to get ye to safety."

"My thanks, monsieur," she returned, without emotion.

Still the man lingered.

"I—I killed Prince Aziz, I fear," he said. "I could not help it. It was his life or mine."

"I fear … you did … not," she replied, faltering. "He may live … I am betrothed to him and—and I do not love him, monsieur!"

O'Rourke hesitated; there seemed to be nothing more to be said, and yet he felt that there was, to the contrary, much that might be said, were he but able to find the words to say it in. At length, diffidently, he put out a hand, caught the woman's, and bent to kiss it. She stood passive; her fingers rested unresisting on his broad palm. The clear moonlight fell softly upon the dazzling whiteness of her countenance; her eyes were fixed upon him steadfastly, with a regard inscrutable, profound, bewildering; even in the deep shadow's that lay beneath her brows, he could see that they burned with a curious, almost an uncanny glow. He felt oddly drawn towards her, irresistibly tempted to clasp her in his arms … With an effort he recollected himself.

The woman saw his lips move mutely; they framed a word she did not hear, nor would have recognized had she heard. "Sure," O'Rourke comforted himself, "'tis a most potent