Even Constance seemed to suspend the
current of her own thoughts at this interruption.
"They are approaching. In all likelihood 'tis a posse from the sheriff."
Again he listened. "They are armed. Nay, then, Tyrone thou must to
cover: thou canst not flee. Point not to the hiding-place I have left.
If, as I suspect, they bring a warrant of search, thy father's life may
be in jeopardy."
"Where,--oh, where?" said Constance, forgetful of all consequences, in
her anxiety for her father's fate and that of the illustrious stranger.
"In thy chamber, lady."
She drew back in dismay.
"Nay," continued he, guessing at the cause of her alarm. "They will not
care to scrutinise for me there with much exactness; and, by the faith
of my fathers, I will not wrong thee!"
There was a frankness, an open and undisguised freedom of manner, in
this address, which assured her. Her confidence returned, and she
committed herself promptly to the issue. She felt her soul expand with
the desire of contributing to his ultimate escape. All the ardour of her
nature was concentrated in this generous and self-devoted feeling. Too
innocent for suspicion she seemed to rise above its influence.
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