Bright pink spots were on her cheeks.

A certain girlish daring was there in this gentle maiden for youthful love and pleasure, else she had not stolen away that night to the ball, but very little for tragic enterprise.
And, moreover, her fine sense of decorum and womanly pride had always served her mainly in the place of courage, which she lacked.
Sorely afraid was Dorothy Fair, if the truth were told, to go with this passionate girl, who had declared to her face she had done murder, to visit a man who she still half believed, with her helpless tenacity of thought, was a murderer also.

The love she had hitherto felt for him was eclipsed by terror at the new image of him which her fearful fancy had conjured up and could not yet dismiss, in spite of Madelon's assurances.

She was, too, really ill, and her delicate nerves were still awry from the shock they had received the night of the ball.

Parson Fair had been sternly indignant, and his daughter had quailed before him, and then had come the news concerning Burr.
Sage tea, and hot foot-baths, and the doctor's nostrums had not cured her yet.