"Don't you think we could get on safer ground?" I suggested.
"No," said Luella. "There isn't any safe ground for us otherwise."
The sudden heart-sickness at the reminder of my mission with which
these words overwhelmed me, tied my tongue and mastered my spirits. It
was this girl's father that I was pursuing. It was to bring him to the
halter that I must keep up my masquerade. It was to bring her to sorrow
and disgrace that I was bound by the dead hand of my murdered friend.
Oh, why was this burden laid upon me? Why was I to be torn on the rack
between inclination and duty?
Luella watched my face narrowly through the conflict in my mind, and I
felt as though her spirit struggled with mine to win me to the course
of open, honest dealing. But it was impossible. She must be the last of
all to know.
Her eyes sank as though she knew which had won the victory, and a
proud, scornful look took the place of the grave good humor that had
been there a moment before. Then, on a sudden, she began to speak of
the theaters, rides, drives and what-not of the pleasures of the day.
To an observer it would have seemed that we were deep in friendly
discourse; but I, who felt her tone and manner, knew that she was miles
away from me and talking but for the appearance of courtesy. Suddenly
she stopped with a weary look.
"There's Aunt Julia waiting for you," she said with a gleam of
malicious pleasure. "Come along. I deliver you over a prisoner of war.
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