“Confide my shame to you,” cried Milady, with the blush of modesty upon her countenance, “for often the crime of one becomes the shame of another—confide my shame to you, a man, and I a woman? Oh,” continued she, placing her hand modestly over her beautiful eyes, “never! never!—I could not!”
“To me, to a brother?” said Felton.
Milady looked at him for some time with an expression which the young man took for doubt, but which, however, was nothing but observation, or rather the wish to fascinate.
Felton, in his turn a suppliant, clasped his hands.
“Well, then,” said Milady, “I confide in my brother; I will dare to—”
At this moment the steps of Lord de Winter were heard; but this time the terrible brother-in-law of Milady did not content himself, as on the preceding day, with passing before the door and going away again. He paused, exchanged two words with the sentinel; then the door opened, and he appeared.
During the exchange of these two words Felton drew back quickly, and when Lord de Winter entered, he was several paces from the prisoner.
The baron entered slowly, sending a scrutinizing glance from Milady to the young officer.
“You have been here a very long time, John,” said he. “Has this woman been relating her crimes to you? In that case I can comprehend the length of the conversation.”
Felton started; and Milady felt she was lost if she did not come to the assistance of the disconcerted Puritan.