"I don't! I don't!" she wailed, stretching out her hands, as he strode towards the door. "Oh, Cyril, don't leave me. You are all I have."
Lister was in a white heat with rage, and stood fumbling at the door. But a backward glance at her pale face cooled him somewhat. He recognised that he was in the presence of some mystery, and that it was necessary for his own peace of mind, as for Bella's, to probe the mystery to the bottom. On the impulse of the moment he walked back, and lifting her, placed her again in the arm-chair. Then he knelt beside her, and took her hands. "Darling," he said, softly and firmly, "I swear to you, what I would not swear to any living creature, that I am innocent. If anyone but you had accused me, I should have——"
"Cyril! Cyril!" She wreathed her arms round his neck, "I only fancied, but I really did not think that——"
He removed her arms. "You should believe in my innocence in the face of all evidence," he said sternly.
"But my own eyes," she faltered.
He frowned. "That certainly is puzzling; still, the drug——"
"I saw you enter the house before I drunk the tea," she protested. "I told you that before."
"Your senses were quite clear?"
"Perfectly clear. And I thought that you had come to try and induce my father to consent to our marriage."
"Strange," muttered the young man. "I was not near the house."