Yet, though I spoke the words boldly, there was both pain and fear in my heart. When a man begins to doubt a woman there is no middle way. But I could not, with honor, do less than defend the name of one I had loved--nay, of one I loved still.
“Oh, a truce to fine words,” was the reply. “All women are alike; off with the old, on with the new. Since she has found you she has no use for me. I might as well talk of my love to the trees or to the rocks as to Lucille, my own wife, since you have kissed her.”
I started.
“Ha! That was but a chance shot, yet it struck,” he cried; and he laughed, though it echoed more like a wail than a sound of merriment.
“But I love her,” he went on. “Oh, God, how I love her! I love her so much that I will, for the sake of it, be cheated of my revenge. With you away I could have hope. But now----”
Outside the wind blew in mournful gusts, for a storm was brewing.
“Hark you, Sir Francis Dane,” he continued. “I will not call you by that name, though, for you have forfeited it. Listen, Captain Amherst; if you will but consent to leave the Colony, leave Lucille, and go away, I, in turn, will forget my brother’s death, my vengeance, and you. The royal warrant shall be destroyed, and you may walk the earth a free man, fearing not any one. Only go. Leave Lucille to me. I can win back her love. See, I will write now a full and free pardon for you, and will transmit it to the King. Will you go?”
It was dark by this time, and the flickering flames, dying amid the ashes, like a hopeless love, faintly illuminated the apartment, as we stood facing each other.
It was strange, when, for the moment I stopped to think of it. Here was a man pleading with another for what was his right. Pleading to be allowed to woo his own wife. Begging that I would give up my love and go away so that his suit might be unhampered. Verily I had never heard of such a thing before, though I knew that love was a strange master. Sir George was asking of me with words what I might expect to be required by the sword. Yet, though I had no right to the love of Lucille, his wife, he did not draw, even as I moved back, and stood on guard.
Whereat I marveled, for he was not a man to accept lightly the dishonor I had put upon him.