Tristan groaned inwardly and grew more afraid than when Basil's men had broken into the church an hour ago.
"What detained you after all had gone?"
"I remained to pray," he answered, with a sense of irritation at her persistence. "What else was there to do in a church?"
"To pray for me?"
"Assuredly."
"Dear, faithful heart," she murmured. "And I have used you so cruelly. But you merited my cruelty—Tristan! Say that you did, else must I perish of remorse."
"Perchance I deserved it," he replied. "But perchance not so much as you bestowed, had you understood my motives," he said unguardedly.
"If I had understood your motives?" she mused. "Ay—there is much I do not understand! Even in this night's business there are not wanting things that remain mysterious, despite the elucidations you have supplied. Tell me, Tristan—what was it that caused you to believe, that I still lived?"
"I did not believe it," he blundered like a fool, never seeing whither her question led.
"You did not?" she cried, with deep surprise, and now, when it was too late, he understood. "What was it then that induced you, to lift the coffin lid?"—