to swear that her betrothed, Master
Lionel Tressilian, accompanied her willingly upon that elopement."

"No," she answered. "As for Lionel Tressilian he was carried off that
he might expiate his sins--sins which he had fathered upon his brother
there, sins which are the subject of your other count against him."

"Now what can you mean by that?" asked his lordship.

"That the story that Sir Oliver killed my brother is a calumny; that the
murderer was Lionel Tressilian, who, to avoid detection and to complete
his work, caused Sir Oliver to be kidnapped that he might be sold into
slavery."

"This is too much!" roared Sir John. "She is trifling with us, she
makes white black and black white. She has been bewitched by that crafty
rogue, by Moorish arts that...."

"Wait!" said Lord Henry, raising his hand. "Give me leave." He
confronted her very seriously. "This... this is a grave statement,
mistress. Have you any proof--anything that you conceive to be a
proof--of what you are saying?"

But Sir John was not to be repressed. "'Tis but the lying tale this
villain told her. He has bewitched her, I say. 'Tis plain as the
sunlight yonder."

Sir Oliver laughed outright at that. His mood was growing exultant,
buoyant, and joyous, and this was the first expression of it. "Bewitched
her? You're determined never to lack for a charge. First 'twas piracy,
then abduction and murder, and now 'tis witchcraft!"

"Oh, a moment, pray!" cried Lord Henry, and he confesses to some heat
at this point. "Do you seriously tell us, Mistress Rosamund, that it was
Lionel Tressilian who murdered Peter Godolphin?"

"Seriously?" she echoed, and her lips were twisted in a little smile of
scorn. "I not merely tell it you, I swear it here in the sight of God.
It was Lionel who murdered my brother and it was Lionel who put it about
that the deed was Sir Oliver's. It was said that Sir Oliver had run away
from the consequences of something discovered against him, and I to
my shame believed the public voice. But I have since discovered the
truth...."

"The truth, do you say, mistress?" cried the impetuous Sir John in a
voice of passionate contempt. "The truth...."

Again his Lordship was forced to intervene.

"Have patience, man," he admonished the knight. "The truth will prevail
in the end, never fear, Killigrew."

"Meanwhile we are wasting time," grumbled Sir John, and on that fell
moodily silent.

"Are we further to understand you to say, mi