"And why, my own?"
"Do not make me feel," she said, "that—though the measured sentences you have taught me to call scolding seemed the sharpest of all penances—there is a heavier yet in the silence which withholds forgiveness."
"What have I yet to forgive, Madonna?"
But Eveena could read my feelings in spite of my words, and knew that the pain she had given was too recent to allow me to misconceive her penitence.
"I ought to say, my interference. It was your right to rule as you chose, and my meddling was a far worse offence than Eunane's malice. But it was not that you felt too deeply to reprove."
"True! Eunane hurt me a little; but I expected no such misjudgment from you. By the touch that proved your alarm I know that I gave no cause for it."
"How so?" she asked in surprise.
"You laid your hand instinctively on my left arm, the one your people use. Had I made the slightest angry gesture, you would have held back my right. Had I deserved that Eveena should think so ill of me—think me capable of doing such dishonour to her presence and to my own roof, which should have protected an equal enemy from that which you feared for a helpless girl? For what you would have checked was such a blow as men deal to men who can strike back; and the hand that had given it would have been unfit to clasp man's in friendship or woman's in love. You yourself must have shrunk from its touch."
She caught and held it fast to her lips.
"Can I forget that it saved my life? I don't understand you at all, but I see that I have frozen your heart.
