“Was it also an accident that you left me and all the world in the belief that the deed was your brother’s?” she asked him.
He covered his face, as if unable to endure her glance. “Did you but know how I loved you—even in those days, in secret—you would perhaps pity me a little,” he whimpered.
“Pity?” She leaned forward and seemed to spit the word at him. “’Sdeath, man! Do you sue for pity—you?”
“Yet you must pity me did you know the greatness of the temptation to which I succumbed.”
“I know the greatness of your infamy, of your falseness, of your cowardice, of your baseness. Oh!”
He stretched out suppliant hands to her; there were tears now in his eyes. “Of your charity, Rosamund....” he was beginning, when at last Oliver intervened:
“I think you are wearying the lady,” he said, and stirred him with his foot. “Relate to us instead some more of your astounding accidents. They are more diverting. Elucidate the accident, by which you had me kidnapped to be sold into slavery. Tell us of the accident by which you succeeded to my property. Expound to the full the accidental circumstances of which throughout you have been the unfortunate victim. Come, man, ply your wits. ’Twill make a pretty tale.”
And then came Jasper to announce that Ali waited with the brazier and the heated manacles.
“They are no longer needed,” said Oliver. “Take this slave hence with you. Bid Ali to take charge of him, and at dawn to see him chained to one of the oars of my galeasse. Away with him.”
Lionel rose to his feet, his face ashen. “Wait! Ah, wait! Rosamund!” he cried.