But a pair of eyes met the painter's gaze, which at once restored him to self-possession, and reminded him that he must collect his wits and presence of mind.

They were those of his sister Melissa, who, as she made her way onward with her companion, had recognized her brother's voice.

In spite of the old woman's earnest advice not to mix in the crowd, she had pushed her way through, and, as the men-at-arms dispersed the mob, she came nearer to her favorite but too reckless brother.
Alexander still held Agatha's hand.

The poor girl herself, trembling with terror, did not know what had befallen her.

Her venerable escort was a young man--a liar.