She never affects to conceal anything, and yet no one of us has lately seen the contents of a note sent or received by her." There was nothing tangible in Eveena's suspicion.

It was most repugnant to my own feelings, and yet it implanted, whether by force of sympathy or of instinct, a misgiving that never left me again.
"My own," I answered, "I would trust your judgment, your observation or feminine instinct and insight into character, far sooner than my own conclusions upon solid facts.

But instincts and presentiments, though we are not scientifically ignorant enough to disregard them, are not evidence on which we can act or even inquire." "No," she said.

"And yet it is hard to feel, as I cannot help feeling, that the thunder-cloud is forming, that the bolt is almost ready to strike, and that you are risking life, and perhaps more than life, out of a delicacy no other man would show towards a child--since child you will have her--who, I feel sure, deserves all she might receive from the hands of one who would have the truth at any cost." "You feel," I answered, "for me as I should feel for you.

But is death so terrible to _us_?
It means leaving you--I wish we knew that it does not mean losing for ever, after so brief an enjoyment, all that is perishable in love like ours--or it would not be worth fearing.