he
African race, with the Northern delicacy in the shape of her face, and
the Southern richness in its color--a woman in the prime of her beauty,
who moved with an inbred grace, who looked with an inbred fascination,
whose large, languid black eyes rested on him gratefully, whose little
dusky hand offered itself to him in mute expression of her thanks, with
the welcome that is given to the coming of a friend. For the first time
in his life the Scotchman was taken by surprise. Every self-preservative
word that he had been meditating but an instant since dropped out of his
memory. His thrice impenetrable armor of habitual suspicion, habitual
self-discipline, and habitual reserve, which had never fallen from him
in a woman's presence before, fell from him in this woman's presence,
and brought him to his knees, a conquered man. He took the hand she
offered him, and bowed over it his first honest homage to the sex, in
silence.

She hesitated on her side. The quick feminine perception which,
in happier circumstances, would have pounced on the secret of his
embarrassment in an instant, failed her now. She attributed his
strange reception of her to pride, to reluctance--to any cause but the
unexpected revelation of her own beauty. "I have no words to thank you,"
she said, faintly, trying to propitiate him. "I should only distress you
if I tried to speak." Her lip began to tremble, she drew back a little,
and turned away her head in silence.

The doctor, who had been standing apart, quietly observant in a corner,
advanced before Mr. Neal could interfere, and led Mrs. Armadale to a
chair. "Don't be afraid of him," whispered the good man, patting her
gently on the shoulder. "He was hard as iron in my hands, but I think,
by the look of him, he will be soft as wax in yours. Say the words I
told you to say, and let us take him to your husband's room, before
those sharp wits of his have time to recover themselves."

She roused her sinking resolution, and advanced half-way to the window
to meet Mr. Neal. "My kind friend, the doctor, has told me, sir, that
your only hesitation in coming here is a hesitation on my account," she
said, her head drooping a little, and her rich color fading away while
she spoke. "I am deeply grateful, but I entreat you not to think
of _me_. What my husband wishes--" Her voice faltered; she waited
resolutely, and recovered herself. "What my husband wishes in his last
moments, I wish too."

This time Mr.