“I killed him, madam,” I answered quietly. “We met one early dawn in Spring Gardens, and he there paid to the brother that which he should have devoted to his wife. ’Twas that that drove me from the country and set me wandering over Europe these fifteen years. But I forget that this story can have but little interest for you, my lady.”
“Why should it not?” she replied. “Life is full of such sad stories.” She leant her head on her hand, and for a moment or two we were silent. “I, too, am troubled to-night for the safety of one I love,” she continued.
“Yes, madam?” I murmured as she paused.
“I allude to my brother,” she said quickly. “Mr. Cassilis, you know well that a battle is imminent. Alas! my brother is a true Ingram, in that he is so rash. I tremble for his safety.”
“I trust for your ladyship’s sake that your fears are groundless,” I replied, “and that you may welcome his return in happier times.”
She smiled sadly by way of answer. And instantly my mind recurred to the bill of attainder passed against him. If, thought I, he is possessed of the same indomitable will as his sister ’twill be long ere he makes his peace with William. But I did not give expression to my thought.
“And yet,” she said slowly, “I know not but that it is for the best that he is absent. Were he to know,” she continued, with a swift, upward glance at me, “that we were—shall I say—prisoners in our own house, I know not of what extreme folly he might be guilty.”
“And who could wonder, madam?” I answered, “or who could find it in their heart to blame him? What danger is there which a man beloved by you would not freely dare, and count the peril his highest privilege! What self-sacrifice for your sake too severe for one who loved you!”
“Loved me?” she said, shrinking.
“Yes, yes; who loved you!”