Eustace shrieked aloud.
“Fool, fool that I have been! Caught in my own trap! Villain, villain that he is! After all he promised me at Lundy!”
And springing up, Eustace stamped up and down the room, gnashing his teeth, tossing his head from side to side, and clutching with outstretched hands at the empty air, with the horrible gesture (Heaven grant that no reader has ever witnessed it!) of that despair which still seeks blindly for the object which it knows is lost forever.
Amyas sat thunderstruck. His first impulse was to ask, “Lundy? What knew you of him? What had he or you to do at Lundy?” but pity conquered curiosity.
“Oh, Eustace! And you then loved her too?”
“Don't speak to me! Loved her? Yes, sir, and had as good a right to love her as any one of your precious Brotherhood of the Rose. Don't speak to me, I say, or I shall do you a mischief!”
So Eustace knew of the brotherhood too! Amyas longed to ask him how; but what use in that? If he knew it, he knew it; and what harm? So he only answered:
“My good cousin, why be wroth with me? If you really love her, now is the time to take counsel with me how best we shall—”
Eustace did not let him finish his sentence. Conscious that he had betrayed himself upon more points than one, he stopped short in his walk, suddenly collected himself by one great effort, and eyed Amyas from underneath his brows with the old down look.
“How best we shall do what, my valiant cousin?” said he, in a meaning and half-scornful voice. “What does your most chivalrous Brotherhood of the Rose purpose in such a case?”