"No, I don't believe you."
Cynthia took her hand and wetted it with tears. The Duchess drew it away.
"I wish you would kill me, Leila."
"Don't tell such stories, Cynthia. You know it is not my nature to kill people; though there were persons wicked enough to say I had killed poor Muza, after cutting out his tongue, which you know he had lost before he ever came to me."
"I know it, Leila."
"Muza was perhaps sent back as a spy; though he pretended he had escaped. There are so many wicked people in the world that I do not know who to trust—I believe I shall end by distrusting everybody."
"Oh no, Leila. Do not!"
"Why, how can I trust you? You have eaten of my bread and drank of my cup these two years, and you are no more of us than if you were a stone."
"I love my own people, I own," said Cynthia. "And so would you love yours, if you were exiled from them."
"I love mine without being exiled from them."