She spoke in a low troubled voice—so low, that her master could barely distinguish the words. He shifted his position, so as to meet her full face. Her eyes answered the inquiry of his with some sad, crippled defiance.
“Darda,” he said, “you tried to kill me, you know. That was stupid and wicked; for only great trouble could have come to you both had you succeeded. But, I forgive you; for you struck in passion and out of your love for that other. Now, tell me—you saw the stone; and was I not justified in putting him there on the strength of it?”
“It would have killed him—the shadows would have killed him in a little time.”
“Ah! we men are made of tougher clay.”
“Not he—no, not he.”
“He conspired against me.”
“It is a lie. He never did.”
“But the stone says so.”
“Then it lies. Ask him. He will tell you the truth.”
“I have it in my mind to do so. I will go now.”