"He is not my lover," she murmured dully, "nor am I in his confidence."
She was still on her knees, but had fallen back on her heels, with arms hanging limp and helpless by her side. Hope so suddenly arisen had equally quickly died out of her heart, and her pinched face expressed in every line the despair and misery which had come in its wake.
"Come!" he cried harshly, "play no tricks with me, wench. Thou didst own to being the rascal's sweetheart."
"I owned to my love for him," she said simply, "not to his love for me."
"I told thee that he will hang or burn unless thou art willing to help him."
"And I told thee, gracious sir, that I would give my life for him."
"Which is quite unnecessary. All I want is the knowledge of where he keeps the lady whom he has outraged."
"I cannot help you, mynheer, in that."
"Thou wilt not!" he cried.
"I cannot," she reiterated gently. "I do not know where she is."