"Yes," she answered, "they were the Jacobite papers. You burned them."
"I!" said the Duke.
Presently he said: "Do you not understand what this farce has cost? Thanks to you, I have no iota of proof against these men. I cannot touch these rebels. O madam, I pray Heaven that you have not by this night's trickery destroyed England!"
"I did it to save the man I love," she proudly said.
"I had promised you his life."
"But would you have kept that promise?"
"No," he answered, simply.
"Then are we quits, my Lord. You lied to me, and I to you. Oh, I know that were I a man you would kill me within the moment. But you respect my womanhood. Ah, goodness!" the girl cried, shrilly, "what very edifying respect for womanhood have you, who burned those papers because you believed my dearest Marian had stooped to a painted mountebank!"
"I burned them—yes, in the belief that I was saving you."
She laughed in his face. "You never believed that,—not for an instant."