I, impatiently, "cannot my hand preserve my life? and is it
for you, the daughter of a line of warriors, to ask your lover and your
husband to shrink from a single foe?"

"No, Morton," answered Isora. "Were you going to battle, I would gird
on your sword myself; were, too, this man other than he is, and you were
about to meet him in open contest, I would not wrong you, nor degrade
your betrothed, by a fear. But I know my persecutor well,--fierce,
unrelenting,--dreadful in his dark and ungovernable passions as he is,
he has not the courage to confront you: I fear not the open foe, but
the lurking and sure assassin. His very earnestness to avoid you, the
precautions he has taken, are alone sufficient to convince you that he
dreads personally to oppose your claim or to vindicate himself."

"Then what have I to fear?"

"Everything! Do you not know that from men, at once fierce, crafty, and
shrinking from bold violence, the stuff for assassins is always made?
And if I wanted surer proof of his designs than inference, his oath--it
rings in my ears now--is sufficient. 'The moment Morton Devereux
discovers who is his rival, that moment his death-warrant is irrevocably
sealed.' Morton, I demand your promise; or, though my heart break, I
will record my own vow."

"Stay--stay," I said, in anger, and in sorrow: "were I to promise this,
and for my own safety hazard yours, what could you deem me?"

"Fear not for me, Morton," answered Isora; "you have no cause. I tell
you that this man, villain as he is, ever leaves me humbled and abased.
Do not think that in all times, and all scenes, I am the foolish and
weak creature you behold me now. Remember that you said rightly I was
the daughter of a line of warriors; and I have that within me which will
not shame my descent."

"But, dearest, your resolution may avail you for a time; but it cannot
forever baffle the hardened nature of a man. I know my own sex, and I
know my own ferocity, were it once aroused."

"But, Morton, you do not know me," said Isora, proudly, and her face, as
she spoke, was set, and even stern: "I am only the coward when I think
of you; a word--a look of mine--can abash this man; or, if it could not,
I am never without a weapon to defend myself, or--or--" Isora's voice,
before firm and collected, now faltered, and a deep blush flowed over
the marble paleness of her face.

"Or what?" said I, anxiously.

"Or thee, Morton!" murmured Isora, tenderly, and withdraw