You, my Lord Marquis, may be ignorant in the Guards of a very coarse term used in law, called 'compounding a felony.' That is what you tempt me to now." The Seraph, with one of those oaths that made the Hebrew's blood run cold, though he was no coward, opened his lips to speak; Cecil arrested him with that singular impassiveness, that apathy of resignation which had characterized his whole conduct throughout, save at a few brief moments.
"Make no opposition.

The man is acting but in his own justification.
I will wait for mine.

To resist would be to degrade us with a bully's brawl; they have the law with them.

Let it take its course." The Seraph dashed his hand across his eyes; he felt blind--the room seemed to reel with him.
"Oh, God! that you----" He could not finish the words.

That his comrade, his friend, one of his own corps, of his own world, should be arrested like the blackest thief in Whitechapel or in the Rue du Temple! Cecil glanced at him, and his eyes grew infinitely yearning--infinitely gentle; a shudder shook him all through his limbs.