"Why not go straight to Governor Brent and give them the lie?"
Neville staggered as if a blow had struck him.
"Peggy—"
"Brother—"
"It is Brent who accuses me!"
At these words Peggy turned pale, but she never flinched. "Some villain has his ear," she cried. "Tell me who it is; I will face him down,—yes, I, girl though I am, will show him what it is to lie away the character, perhaps the life, of the best man in Maryland."
"How do you know it is a lie?"
Peggy Neville laughed—a nervous, hysterical laugh; but the sound was music in her brother's ears. There was one person, then, to whom the idea of his being a murderer was impossible—absurd. He smiled, but he repeated the question; "How dost thou know it is a lie?"
"I know it as I know that water runs downhill, that fire burns. Shall I swear by these and doubt the laws that rule a soul?"
Neville looked at his sister in a sort of trance of bewilderment. Could this be the little girl he had played with and laughed at and teased and loved as one loves a pet and plaything,—this pale young creature, with eyes aflame with righteous wrath, with pity on her lips, and all her heart bursting with sympathy and tenderness? Her brother took her hand in his with a feeling akin to reverence.