the peril of
our position.

_Peril_ I have said, and in such we stood--peril of no trifling kind.
You will with difficulty comprehend the nature of our situation. You
will imagine yourself reading the account of some ordinary lover's
escapade--a mere runaway match, _a la Gretna Green_.

Rid yourself of this fancy. Know that all three of us had committed an
act for which we were amenable. Know that my _crime_ rendered me liable
to certain and severe punishment by the _laws of the land_; that a still
more terrible sentence might be feared _outside the laws of the land_.
I knew all this--I knew that life itself was imperilled by the act I had
committed!

Think of our danger, and it may enable you to form some idea of what
were our feelings after returning from our bootless hunt after the
horses.

We had no choice but stay where we were till morning.

We spent half-an-hour in dragging the _tillandsia_ from the trees, and
collecting the soft leaves of the pawpaws. With these I strewed the
ground; and, placing Aurore upon it, I covered her with my cloak.

For myself I needed no couch. I sat down near my beloved, with my back
against the trunk of a tree. I would fain have pillowed her head upon
my breast, but the presence of D'Hauteville restrained me. Even that
might not have hindered me, but the slight proposal which I made had
been declined by Aurore. Even the hand that I had taken in mine was
respectfully withdrawn!

I will confess that this coyness surprised and piqued me.

CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT.

A NIGHT IN THE WOODS.

Lightly clad as I was, the cold dews of the night would have prevented
me from sleeping; but I needed not that to keep me awake. I could not
have slept upon a couch of eider.

D'Hauteville had generously offered me his cloak, which I declined. He,
too, was clad in cottonade and linen--though that was not the reason for
my declining his offer. Even had I been suffering, I could not have
accepted it. I began to fear him!

Aurore was soon asleep. The lightning showed me that her eyes were
closed, and I could tell by her soft regular breathing that she slept.
This, too, annoyed me!

I watched for each new gleam that I might look upon her. Each time as
the quivering light illumined her lovely features, I gazed upon them
with mingled feelings of passion and pain. Oh! could there be falsehood
under that fair face? Could sin exist in that noble soul? After all
was I _not_ belov