“Lady,” he said, slowly, “though we be opponents, we share the same blood. Let a kinsman entreat you to reason.”
If the civil-spoken stranger had struck her in the face with his glove Brilliana could not have been more astonished or angered. She moved a little nearer to him, interrogation in her shining eyes and on her angry cheeks.
“Are you mad?” she gasped. “How could such a thing as you be my kinsman?”
She had taunted him again and again during their brief interview and he had shown no sign of displeasure. He showed no sign of displeasure now, answering her with simple dignity.
“Very simply. A lady of your race, your grandsire’s sister, married a poor gentleman of my name and was my father’s mother.”
Brilliana drew back a little as if she had indeed received a blow. Involuntarily, she put up her hand to her eyes as if to shut out the sight of this importunate fellow.
“I have heard something of that tale,” she whispered, “but dimly, for we in Harby do not care to speak of it. When my grandsire’s sister shamed her family by wedding with a Puritan her people blotted her from their memory. You will not find her picture on the walls of Harby.”
“The loss is Harby’s,” the soldier answered, “for I believe she was as fair as she was good. She married an honest gentleman named Cloud, whose honesty compelled him to profess the faith he believed in. My name is Evander Cloud.”
He waited for a moment as if he expected her to speak, but she uttered no word, only faced him rigidly with hatred in her gaze.