The charm of innocence breathes around her, as fragrance is diffused by the flower, sanctifying her lightest thought and action, and shielding her, like a spell, from the approach of evil. “You can count upon me, Nigel,” she said. He seemed to be hesitating between two courses of action. Kneebone—she was too well acquainted; having, more than once, been obliged to repel his advances; and, though his impertinence would have given her little concern at another season, it now added considerably to her distraction. She drank it obediently. Ramage,” she cried, “you are outrageous! You understand nothing.
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