Yvon's blue eyes were fixed curiously on the speaker's face, a vague horror growing in them as she proceeded.
"Hath all this never struck thee, my Yvon? Hast thou not searched in vain for the cause of thy suffering?"
"Nay," he muttered, "I understand not what thou speakest of, Diane."
"Of witchcraft," she said softly but very clearly. "Of witchcraft, dearest love, which hath been brought to work so evilly upon thee that death stands already awaiting thee."
She crossed herself, shuddering as she saw the horror deepening in the wide eyes so close to hers.
"Witchcraft?" he echoed faintly. "But wherefore? and by whose hand should such spells be wrought?"
"By the cruel hand of Gwennola, thy sister!"
Instantly the blue eyes blazed, a red, angry flush swiftly dyeing the pale, sunken cheeks.
"Gwennola! my sister Gwennola a witch! Nay, Diane, thou ravest. Unsay such words, maiden! By my faith, they shall not be breathed again in my presence,—the honour of the house of Mereac may not lightly be bandied by careless lips."
She had expected his anger, and faced it coolly enough.