“Did she—the mother—not promise,” he shrieked, “to restore the little brother to you—the poor little murdered wretch! She has kept to her word. And you—you? Don’t forget you are sworn under damnation to dedicate yourself, a maid, to her service! Can you do it? God in heaven, it is not your fault if you can!”
She fell before him, as he spurned her, writhing and moaning amongst the sodden grass.
“Won’t you listen to me—oh, won’t you listen? If you would only kill me, and not speak!”
He stood immediately rigid as justice’s own sentry.
“Yes, I will listen,” he said, “and you shall condemn yourself.”
She crept a thought nearer and, feeling him keep aloof, sat bowed upon the ground, her fingers locked together in her lap.
“I will tell you the truth,” she said, low and broken. “After that first time he, my brother, was changed. He became, when you were gone, a little devil, insulting and defying me. It was terrible—his precocity. He held over my head ever a threat—monsieur, it was that he would make exposure of the liaison between his sister and the Englishman.”
Ned uttered an exclamation. She entreated him with raised hands.
“Ah! it is not always the truth one fears. One day in the woods—oh, my God, monsieur, hide me!—in the woods—what was I saying! Mother of God! it was here—we quarrelled, and I was desperate. He ran to escape me, climbed the great branch that stooped to the grass. He stood high up, reviling me. I made as if to fling a stone: he threw up his arm, stumbled, and disappeared.”
She crept towards him again, yet another agonised appeal for the tiniest assurance that he had ceased to loathe her. At least this time he stood his ground.