“I am indeed distraught, Sir John,” she answered, and took the hands that he extended. “Oh, have pity!” she cried with a sudden change to utter intercession. “I implore you to have pity!”
“What pity can I show you, child? You have but to name....”
“’Tis not pity for me, but pity for him that I am beseeching of you.”
“For him?” he cried, frowning again.
“For Oliver Tressilian.”
He dropped her hands and stood away. “God’s light!” he swore. “You sue for pity for Oliver Tressilian, for that renegade, that incarnate devil? Oh, you are mad!” he stormed. “Mad!” and he flung away from her, whirling his arms.
“I love him,” she said simply.
That answer smote him instantly still. Under the shock of it he just stood and stared at her again, his jaw fallen.
“You love him!” he said at last below his breath. “You love him! You love a man who is a pirate, a renegade, the abductor of yourself and of Lionel, the man who murdered your brother!”
“He did not.” She was fierce in her denial of it. “I have learnt the truth of that matter.”