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"Well, no; but I dare say I shall before I am done with you. Besides, it occurred to me I might as well have a last look at you before consigning my body to the grave." "Give me one, Nolly," says Sir Nicholas, rousing from his reverie. "Only to return," interrupts he, quickly. "And—to break at your feet? to break one's heart, do you mean? I do not like your simile.".
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"I never saw your equal," says Geoffrey, who, with Sir Nicholas, has been listening to the last half of the conversation, and who is plainly suppressing a strong desire to laugh. "Oh, no!" shaking her lovely head emphatically, with a smile. "It's country dances I mean. Up the middle and down again, and all that," moving her hand in a soft undulating way as though keeping it in accord with some music that is ringing in her brain. Then, sweetly, "Did you ever dance a country dance?" "Now I am here, you will sing me something," says Geoffrey, presently. "What is it?" she says, fearfully, and then, "Your coat is wet—I feel it. Oh Geoffrey, look at your shirt. It is blood!" Her tone is full of horror. "What have they done to you?" she says, pitifully. "You are hurt, wounded!".
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