'Keep your ruffian threats for more suitable occasion, such as you will find among your friends the Goths.' She spoke coldly and deliberately. 'If enslavement to a yellow-haired barbarian had not muddled your wits, you would long ago have seen who it was that has played you false.'
Basil stared at her, his passion chilled with surprise and alarm.
'Played me false!' he echoed involuntarily.
'Who is it,' continued Petronilla with slow scorn, 'that you have trusted blindly? To whom have you looked for guidance and protection? Who has fostered your suspicion against me?'
An intolerable pang went through the listener's heart.
'That's but another lie!' he exclaimed furiously. 'O basest of women born!'
A hand was upon his dagger. Petronilla rose and stepped back a little, glancing towards one of the drawn curtains.
'You have threatened my life,' she said in an undertone. 'Remember that it is you who are in my power. If I raise my voice on one word, the next moment you will lie pierced by a score of weapons. Moderate your insults: my temper is not meek.'
Basil thought for a moment with painful intentness.
'Speak plainly,' he said at length. 'You would have me suspect—? I am ashamed to utter the name.'