“Liar—ruffian!” said I through my teeth. The Chevalier answered for me:
“I would stake my life on her truth and purity.”
“You forget the mock marriage, dear Chevalier.”
“It was after the manner of his creed and people.”
“It was after a manner we all have used at times.”
“Speak for yourself, your Excellency,” was the austere reply. Nevertheless, I could see that the Chevalier was much troubled.
“She forgot race, religion, people—all, to spend still hours with a foreign spy in prison,” urged Bigot, with damnable point and suggestion.
“Hush, sir!” said the Chevalier. “She is a girl once much beloved and ever admired among us. Let not your rancour against the man be spent upon the maid. Nay, more, why should you hate the man so? It is said, your Excellency, that this Moray did not fire the shot that wounded you, but one who has less reason to love you.”
Bigot smiled wickedly, but said nothing.
The Chevalier laid a hand on Bigot’s arm. “Will you not oppose the Governor and the bishop? Her fate is sad enough.”