He was bending forward to listen, and in his grief and anger he had forgotten to preserve the truculent expression which it was his part to wear.

Once more Leonard's face was the face of an English gentleman, noble and open, if somewhat stern.
Their eyes met, and there was that in his which caused Juanna to pause.
She looked at him swiftly as though she would read his very soul, and in answer he put all his will and heart's desire into his gaze, the will and the desire that she should know him to be her friend.

They had never met before, she did not even dream of his existence, and there was little in Leonard's outward appearance to distinguish him from the ruffians by whom he was surrounded.

Yet her quick sense, sharpened by despair, read what was written in his eyes, and read it aright.

From that moment Juanna felt that she was not alone among these wolves, that there was one person at least who would save her if he could.
In an instant she had searched his face and dropped her eyes again, fearing lest she should awake suspicion.