She shook her head. Clearly speech was beyond her. Not once during the scene had Ambrose been able to see her eyes, Macfarlane waited a moment for her to go, then shrugged deprecatingly.
"Will you submit to handcuffs or must I force you?" he demanded of
Ambrose.
Ambrose did not hear him. His eyes were fastened on Colina. So long as he was tortured by a doubt of her he was oblivious to everything else.
The heart knows no logic. It deals directly with the heart. Love looks for loyalty as its due. Ambrose was amazed and incredulous and sickened by his love's apparent faint-heartedness.
"Colina!" he cried indignantly, "have you nothing to say? Do you believe this lie?"
Her agonized eyes flew to his—full of passionate gratitude to hear him defend himself. His scorn both abased and overjoyed her. Her heart knew.
None of the others recognized what was passing in those glances.
Macfarlane took a step forward. "Here! Leave Miss Gaviller out of this!" he said harshly.
Ambrose did not look at him, but his hand clenched ready to strike.
His eyes were fixed on Colina, demanding an answer.
Color came back to her cheeks and firmness to her voice. "Stop!" she cried to Macfarlane in her old imperious way. "I'm the mistress here. My father is incapable of giving orders. You've no right to judge this man. None of us can choose. There is no evidence. I will not have either one handcuffed!"