As he would have answered her, she broke in with more hot words.
"Tell her that I shall not lose my color in exile; it will not cure me of my crime of loyalty to my people—I cannot change my faith—tell her——"
But he interrupted gravely:
"Thou dost wrong thyself and her: knowing well that thy 'crime' is not 'of loyalty to thy people'; but that thou couldst profess a loyalty which was but pretence to the Queen who held thy vows of fealty."
She was quivering still with anger and she did not answer him.
"Speech is useless," he said, "if it be not reasonable: and none grieveth more than our gentle Lady that the welfare of the State demandeth the exile of one who hath conspired against it. She, of her grace, will have it that others have misled thee;—that of thine own heart thou wouldst not have sought this treachery."
"Treachery!" her eyes flamed. "If that be treachery——Listen! I thought to send thee away without my confidence and leave thee to thy blind struggle to rule our people of Cyprus—thou and the fair little Queen! Yet I will tell thee, for I cannot leave thee so."
She had come nearer. "Will the nobles in their far lands bow at her bidding? Never! They need a man to sway them, for the good of Cyprus—one who knoweth how to rule—of strength and constancy to shape their kingdom and make it great. For such a man the nobles would rise in their might."
"There is none such," he answered coldly, "and talk of treason—except it were a maid's wild dreaming—must be brought before the Council of the Realm. Unless thou hast confession of some real import to the State—or names that we should know—and for the telling much might be forgiven thee—I bid thee farewell. Truly it is hard for thee, my poor Dama Ecciva; but in thy heart thou knowest that the penalty could not be less.—May thy reason and the years soften it to thee."
She had not listened to his last words, but stood irresolute as he took his ceremonious farewell: then suddenly she sprang towards him and caught his hand to detain him. Her face had grown soft and eager.