g-whip, as I still bear the mark. The
man who says I were not justified in having killed him for it is a liar
and a hypocrite. Yet the thought of you, Rosamund, the thought that he
was your brother sufficed to quench the rage in which he left me. And
now that by some grim mischance he has met his death, my recompense for
all my patience, for all my thought for you is that I am charged with
slaying him, and that you believe this charge."

"She has no choice," rasped Killigrew.

"Sir John," he cried, "I pray you do not meddle with her choice. That
you believe it, marks you for a fool, and a fool's counsel is a rotten
staff to lean upon at any time. Why God o' mercy! assume that I desired
to take satisfaction for the affront he had put upon me; do you know so
little of men, and of me of all men, that you suppose I should go about
my vengeance in this hole-and-corner fashion to set a hangman's noose
about my neck. A fine vengeance that, as God lives! Was it so I dealt
with you, Sir John, when you permitted your tongue to wag too freely,
as you have yourself confessed? Heaven's light, man; take a proper
view; consider was this matter likely. I take it you are a more fearsome
antagonist than was ever poor Peter Godolphin, yet when I sought
satisfaction of you I sought it boldly and openly, as is my way. When we
measured swords in your park at Arwenack we did so before witnesses in
proper form, that the survivor might not be troubled with the Justices.
You know me well, and what manner of man I am with my weapons. Should I
not have done the like by Peter if I had sought his life? Should I
not have sought it in the same open fashion, and so killed him at my
pleasure and leisure, and without risk or reproach from any?"

Sir John was stricken thoughtful. Here was logic hard and clear as ice;
and the knight of Arwenack was no fool. But whilst he stood frowning and
perplexed at the end of that long tirade, it was Rosamund who gave Sir
Oliver his answer.

"You ran no risk of reproach from any, do you say?"

He turned, and was abashed. He knew the thought that was running in her
mind.

"You mean," he said slowly, gently, his accents charged with reproachful
incredulity, "that I am so base and false that I could in this fashion
do what I dared not for your sake do openly? 'Tis what you mean.
Rosamund! I burn with shame for you that you can think such thoughts of
one whom... whom you professed to love."

Her coldness fell from