"And, of course, knowing there could be no—that it was too senseless—" The words she was searching for failed her; she looked toward the path over the neck of rock, but he continued to stand between it and her.
"I have heard the story in all its details; all that passed at the Mount, while Nanette was there. And," instead of having undermined his belief, she felt she had only strengthened it, "I am sure you went to the Monastery St. Ranulphe, knowing—"
"You are sure!" she interrupted quickly. "It wasn't long ago you were sure it was I who betrayed you, and—"
"I was wrong, then; but," his eyes continued to meet hers, "I am not wrong now."
Behind her, my lady's hand closed hard on the rock.
"Deny it!" his voice went on. "In so many words!"
"Why should I?" She caught her breath quickly. "I denied something to you once, and you did not believe."
"I'll believe you now!"
"I should feel very much flattered, I am sure; but after—" A spark of defiance began to gleam in her eyes. "You are sure one moment, and not, the next! You are ready to believe, or not to believe!" More certain now, she lifted her head; she, whose assurance and wit had never failed her at court, would not be put to confusion by him!
His answer was unexpected; to her; to himself. Perhaps it was the peasant—the untamed half-peasant—in his blood that caused it; that made a sudden, unceremonious act, his reply! He caught both her hands; drew her to him. He knew she could never care for him—she, the beautiful lady! But he forgot himself for the moment; thought only of what she had done; her courage, her fineness, her delicate loveliness! Her life for his. To pay a fancied debt, perhaps? And all the while he had thought— Self-reproaches fell from his lips; were followed by bolder, more daring words. All he would have said the night on the beach, when he had borne her from the fiery rock to the ship, now burst from him; all he had felt when he had held her in his arms—motionless, unresisting, the still, white face upturned, offering itself freely to his gaze!