from him I resolved to have it.

"How terrified you look! I am coming to it now. Are you sure that you
can bear it? It is nothing very harrowing; but still, young ladies--"

"I feel a little faint," I could not help saying; "but that is nothing.
I must hear the whole of it. Please to go on without minding me."

"For my own sake I will not, as well as for yours. I can not have you
fainting, and bringing people here. Go to the house and take food, and
recover your strength, and then come here again. I promise to be here,
and your father's daughter will not take advantage of my kindness."

Though his eyes were fierce (instead of being sad) and full of strange
tempestuous light, they bore some likeness to my father's, and asserted
power over me. Reluctant as I was, I obeyed this man, and left him
there, and went slowly to the house, walking as if in a troubled dream.

CHAPTER LII

FOR LIFE, DEATH

Upon my return, I saw nothing for a time but fans and feathers of
browning fern, dark shags of ling, and podded spurs of broom and furze,
and wisps of grass. With great relief (of which I felt ashamed while
even breathing it), I thought that the man was afraid to tell the rest
of his story, and had fled; but ere my cowardice had much time for
self-congratulation a tall figure rose from the ground, and fear
compelled me into courage. For throughout this long interview more and
more I felt an extremely unpleasant conviction. That stranger might not
be a downright madman, nor even what is called a lunatic; but still
it was clear that upon certain points--the laws of this country, for
instance, and the value of rank and station--his opinions were so
outrageous that his reason must be affected. And, even without such
proofs as these, his eyes and his manner were quite enough. Therefore I
had need of no small caution, not only concerning my words and gestures,
but as to my looks and even thoughts, for he seemed to divine these last
as quickly as they flashed across me. I never had learned to conceal my
thoughts, and this first lesson was an awkward one.

"I hope you are better," he said, as kindly as it was possible for him
to speak. "Now have no fear of me, once more I tell you. I will not sham
any admiration, affection, or any thing of that kind; but as for harming
you--why, your father was almost the only kind heart I ever met!"

"Then why did you send a most vile man to fetch me, when my father was
dead in the desert?