He knew she had been weeping. By the light of a torch borne at the stern of the hostile wherry, he saw that the pursuers had approached within a short distance of the object of their quest. And for twelve years he has been so; until his long security, well-nigh obliterating remembrance of the deed, has bred almost a sense of innocence within his breast. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms.
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