I was shocked then, as I bowed my
thanks, at the ghastly whiteness and expression of my escort's face, but
he vanished too quickly to permit of inquiry or remark at that season.
I had still time before the curtain rose to relate my adventure, which
brought the blood hotly to George Gaston's brow as he listened to it.
"There it is!" he muttered. "It is all very well with me in peaceful
times, but, when it comes to battle, a poor, lame wretch is of little
account. I might as well be a woman;" and the tears flowed down his
quivering cheeks. "It was shameful, disgraceful, that any other man
should have defended you, Miriam," he added, in a broken voice,
clinching his hands, "than I, your escort."
"You did not even see the affair, George," I remonstrated. "Had you been
as strong as Samson, and I know you are just as brave, you could not
have helped me, for there I was lagging away behind, through my own
fault, and how could you, in front, between your aunt and Laura,
possibly know what danger was in store for me? Now, I shall feel
provoked if you show so much morbid feeling; besides, reflect, you are
but a boy, dear. George. No youth of your age is ever very strong."
"A boy! and what are you, Miriam Monfort, that you taunt me with youth!
a woman, I suppose--a heroine!" with bitter sarcasm in his voice and
eye, for the first time in his life so directed to me.
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