I dreaded lest his keen, clear eye should read guilt in my conscious face.

Fortunately for me, he was too much agitated himself to notice my confusion.

He eagerly clutched the paper, and his aspect grew dark as he perused it.
"Geoffrey," said he, and his voice, generally so clear and passionless, sunk into a choking whisper, "Is that woman gone ?" "No, uncle, she is still there, and dares you to refuse her admittance." I had thought Robert Moncton icy and immovable--that his blood never flowed like the blood of other men.

I had deceived myself.

Beneath the snow-capped mountain, the volcano conceals its hottest fires.