me, hoping doubtless to smooth the king's path by
removing me from her thoughts."

What he said did little to allay my anger until I looked into his face
and saw that by reason of his fever and his great trouble, he was not
responsible for his words. I had been on the point of giving him the lie
the second time, but after a moment's consideration, my anger changed to
pity, and I said:--

"Forgive me, Hamilton. I am sorry I spoke in anger. You did not lie. You
have been simply jumping at conclusions."

"Perhaps," he answered wanderingly.

"But if I tell you, upon my honor, that you are mistaken, will you
believe me?" I asked, still feeling a touch of irritation.

He did not answer, so, thinking to give him one more chance, I continued
gently: "I have neither harbored an unkind thought of you nor spoken an
unkind word of you since the day we parted at Sundridge. On the contrary,
I believed that the hot moment there had welded a friendship between us
which would last all our lives through."

He walked over to the window, stood looking out a moment, then came back
and resumed his chair before me.

"I do not favor your suit with my cousin to any greater extent than I did
when we were at Sundridge," I continued, determined that there should be
no misunderstanding of my position in that respect, "though since that
time I have learned that you are a far better man than I had ever
supposed. I have not recommended my cousin to the king, nor is she his
favorite in the sense you seem to believe. I do not know the cause of her
aversion to you, and, sir, I have nothing else to say except that I take
it for granted that you know I speak the truth. This is my explanation.
It is for you to say whether you accept or reject it."

I rose, giving him to understand that I was ready to take my leave, but
he motioned me to resume my chair. After gazing vacantly out the window
for a moment, he covered his face with his hands and answered:--

"I accept your explanation gladly, Baron Ned. I have wronged you. I have
been in such turmoil of mind and conscience for so long a time that I am
hardly responsible, and now I suppose I am in a fever because of the loss
of blood."

I resumed my chair, the difference being settled between us, and in a
moment we began to discuss the cause of Frances's sudden change.

It must be remembered that I knew nothing all this time of Hamilton's
remote connection with Roger Wentworth's murder. The dimly hi