In silence, Andrea had listened to all the desperate young man had said: only the throbbing of her heart indicated life; only her looks showed reason.
“Philip,” she said after a long pause, “you have thought that I loved you no longer, poor brother! and loved another man? now I forgive you all but the belief that I am impious enough to take a false oath. Well, I swear by high heaven which hears me, by our mother’s soul—it seems that she has not long enough defended me, alas! that a thought of love has never distracted my reason. Now, God hath my soul in His holy keeping, and my body is at your disposal.”
“Then there is witchcraft here,” cried Philip; “I have heard of philters and potions. Someone has laid a hellish snare for you. Awake, none could have won this prize—sleeping, they have despoiled you. But we are together now and you are strong with me. You confide your honor in me and I shall revenge you.”
“Yes, revenge, for it would be for a crime!” said the girl, with a sombre glow in her eyes.
“Well let us search out the criminal together,” continued the Knight of Redcastle. “Have you noticed any one spying you and following you about—have you had letters—has a man said he loved you or led you to suppose so—for women have a remarkable instinct in such matters?”
“No one, nothing.”
“Have you never walked out alone?”
“I always had Nicole with me.”
“Nicole? a girl of dubious morals. Have I known all about her escapade?”
“Only that she is supposed to have run away with her sweetheart.”