She turned it on Nevil, as against an enemy, and became the victim in his place.

Tears for him filled in her eyes, and ran over; she disdained to notice them, and blinked offendedly to have her sight clear of the weakness; but these interceding tears would flow; it was dangerous to blame him, harshly.

She let them roll down, figuring to herself with quiet simplicity of mind that her spirit was independent of them as long as she restrained her hands from being accomplices by brushing them away, as weeping girls do that cry for comfort.

Nevil had saved her brother's life, and had succoured her countrymen; he loved her, and was a hero.

He should not have said he loved her; that was wrong; and it was shameful that he should have urged her to disobey her father.