ted cautiously from its socket, the latch
clicked gently, and the door swung open. I looked, and must needs look
again to make assurance sure. For on the threshold stood my lady
Margery, and just behind her some broad figure of a woman whom I knew
for her stout Norman tiring-maid.

She gave me little time for any word of welcome or of deprecation. While
still I stood amazed she dragged the woman in with her and closed the
door. At that I found my tongue.

"Margery! Why have you come?" I spoke in French, and she was quick to
lay a finger on her lip.

"Speak to me in English, if you please," she whispered. "Jeanne knows
nothing, and she need not know. But you ask why I come: could I do less
than come, dear friend?"

I had always marveled that she could be so mocking hard at times, and at
other times--as now--so soft and gentle. And though I thought it cruel
that I should have to fight my battle for the losing of her over again,
I had not the heart to chide her.

"You could have done much less, dear lady," I said, taking her hands in
mine; "much less, and still be blameless. You have done too much for me
already. I would you had not done so much, I would to God I had been
hanged before you went upon your knees to that--"

She freed one hand and laid a finger on my lip--nay, it was her palm,
and if I took a dying man's fair leave and kissed it softly, I think she
knew it not.

"Hush!" she commanded. "Is this a time to harbor bitter thoughts? I
thought you might have other things to say to me, Monsieur John."

"There is no other thing that I may say."

"Not anything at all?"

"Naught but a parting hope for you. I hope you will be true and loyal to
yourself, Margery _mia_."

"To myself? I do not understand."

"I think you do--I think you must."

"But I do not."

I turned it over more than once in my mind if I should tell her all I
had feared; should tell her how I came to kill a man and was fair set to
kill another had I found a wedding afoot in the great fore-room. I could
not bring myself to do it, and yet I thought it would go hard with me if
I should leave her still unwarned.

"If I should try to make you understand, you will be angry, as you were
before."

The wicker chair was close beside the table and she sat down. And when
she spoke she had her hands tight-clasped across her knee and would not
look at me.

"Is it--about--Sir Francis?"

"It is," said I, pausing once more upon the brink of full