Lucy saw that perhaps she had been attracted to Martin all along. Will you forgive me—if I say no more?” She looked at him with perplexed, earnest eyes. He resented being regarded as irregular. He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room. Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. Filled as he was with conflicting emotions, any stretch of silence would be dangerous. She ran her gaze over him, and allowed her eyelashes to flutter down.
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