Still Brandon said nothing, and stood as if politely waiting for her to withdraw.

She remained silent a little time, waiting for him to speak, when tears, partly of vexation, I think, moistened her eyes.

“Tell me at least,” she said, “that you know I speak the truth.  I have always believed in you, and now I ask for your faith.  I would not lie to you in the faintest shading of a thought—­not for heaven itself—­not even for your love and forgiveness, much as they are to me, and I want to know that you are sure of my truthfulness, if you doubt all else.  You see I speak plainly of what your love is to me, for although, by remaining away, you made me fear I had been too lavish with my favors—­that is every woman’s fear—­I knew in my heart you loved me; that you could not have done and said what you did otherwise.  Now you see what faith I have in you, and you a man, whom a woman’s instinct prompts to doubt.  How does it compare with your faith in me, a woman, whom all the instincts of a manly nature should dispose to trust?  It seems to be an unwritten law that a man may lie to a woman concerning the most important thing in life to her, and be proud of it, but you see even now I have all faith in your love for me, else I surely should not be here.  You see I trust even your unspoken word, when it might, without much blame to you, be a spoken lie; yet you do not trust me, who have no world-given right to speak falsely about such things, and when that which I now do is full of shame for me, and what I have done full of guilt, if inspired by aught but the purest truth from my heart of hearts.  Your words mean so much—­so much more, I think, than you realize—­and are so cruel in turning to evil the highest, purest impulse a woman can feel—­the glowing pride in self-surrender, and the sweet, delightful privilege of giving where she loves.  How can you?  How can you?”

How eloquent she was!  It seemed to me this would have melted the frozen sea, but I think Brandon felt that now his only hope lay in the safeguard of his constantly upheld indignation.

When he spoke he ignored all she had said.

“You did well to employ my Lord of Buckingham.  It will make matters more interesting when I tell you it was he who attacked you and was caught by the leg under his wounded horse; he was lame, I am told, for some time afterward.  I had watched him following you from the gate at Bridewell, and at once recognized him when his mask fell off during the fight by the wall.  You have done well at every step, I see.”

“Oh, God; to think of it!  Had I but known!  Buckingham shall pay for this with his head; but how could I know?  I was but a poor, distracted girl, sure to make some fatal error.  I was in such agony—­your wounds—­believe me, I suffered more from them than you could.  Every pain you felt was a pang for me—­and then that awful marriage!  I was being sold like a wretched slave to that old satyr, to be gloated over and feasted upon.  No