Their look told me the thought in him, as eloquently as if he had put it into words.

"You, who love her, say--can we ever be cruel enough to tell her of _this ?_" I approached to take his hand.

At the same moment, Lucilla suddenly drew back from him, laid her left hand on his shoulder, and passed her right hand rapidly over his face.
For an instant I felt my heart stand still.

Her miraculous sensitiveness of touch had detected the dark color of my dress, on the day when we first met.

Would it serve her, this time, as truly as it had served her then?
She paused, after the first passage of her fingers over his face, with the breathless attention to what she was about, which, in my own case, I remembered so well.