"I was sent for," he began coldly, "in the name of my people, or I should not have come. Delay me not, there is much work to be done."
"I will be brief," she said guardedly. "They are about to attack the Manor House where the Baron has gone. I tried to keep him here, I told him his life was in danger, but he only laughed at me for my pains."
A swift gleam of indignation shot over his drawn face.
"Hast sent then for me to save thy lover, for me?" he demanded.
"Nay, I have sent for thee to save my soul," she said, with a pitiful ghost of her old smile, her old spirit.
"It is not given a priest of God to shrive an unrepentant harlot," was his impetuous answer.
"You are even as other priests, who speak ever by rote," flashed from her angrily. "An unrepentant harlot, if you will, but a better woman than that haughty, self-willed girl the world called 'good.' I fled from the sight of suffering in others, I cared only for my own pleasures, for no one save myself. Now go about the Castle and ask of Rose Westel, discover what kind of name she bears, count the friends who love her and whom she serves, fit the deeds she does with the selfish aloofness of that girl I was, and tell me which was the better woman. Ay, look at me, look at me," she ended passionately, "is it not written on my face?"
He looked gravely down upon her. Ah, not lightly had she loved, either! Love indeed had given her a soul.
"Yes, the heart is a great teacher," he said softly.