CHAPTER XVIII. She waited expectantly. "That man should have been an Italian bravo," murmured the knight, sinking into a chair: "he has neither fear nor compunction. The nose was long and sharp, the chin pointed, the forehead broad and flat, and connected, without any intervening hollow, with the eyelid; the teeth when displayed, seemed to reach from ear to ear. A species of vertigo seized him. Let me keep him. The blast once more swept over the agitated river: whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before. He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response.
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