The impulse of Gabriel, thus startled, was neither of timidity nor surprise.

It was that of some Spartan boy not new to danger; with a slight cry and a fierce spring, the son's hand clutched at the father's throat.

Dalibard shook him off with an effort, and a smile, half in approval, half in irony, played by the moonlight over his lips.
"Blood will out, young tiger," said he.

"Hush, and hear me!" "Is it you, Father ?" said Gabriel.

"I thought, I dreamed--" "No matter; think, dream always that man should be prepared for defence from peril!" "Gabriel," and the pale scholar seated himself on the bed, "turn your face to mine,--nearer; let the moon fall on it; lift your eyes; look at me--so! Are you not playing false to me?
Are you not Lucretia's spy, while you are pretending to be mine?
It is so; your eye betrays you.
Now, heed me; you have a mind beyond your years.