“Either you are a devil of deceit, or you—you have been wronged!” she gasped. “Esmeralda is not here; we—none of us know where she is; but we believe that she is with you!”
He started and gazed at her with wild eyes.
“Esmeralda with me? Why should she be with me, instead of here or at Belfayre? Explain!”
He spoke with the air of command which few women can resist. Lady Wyndover insensibly grew calmer.
“God forgive you if you are deceiving me, Norman!” she breathed. “We think that she has gone with you. She has left Belfayre—suddenly, without a word. You took her away with you!”
Norman’s face went white, and he bit his lip till the blood came.
“She has left Belfayre? When?”
“The morning the duke died. And left no word! Oh, you know—you know! Why do you stand there so shamelessly?”
“Because I am innocent!” said Norman, savagely. “Does—does Trafford believe this d—n foolery? I beg your pardon!”
The adjective, while it made her shudder, brought a sense of relief.