am not - I have not been. There, child, I can tell you no more. I
am too great a coward. But when later you shall come to hear the
truth - when, after I am gone, they may tell you a strange story
touching this fellow Lesperon who sought the hospitality of your
father's house - bethink you of my restraint in this hour; bethink
you of my departure. You will understand these things perhaps
afterwards. But bethink you of them, and you will unriddle them for
yourself, perhaps. Be merciful upon me then; judge me not
over-harshly."

I paused, and for a moment we were silent. Then suddenly she looked
up; her fingers tightened upon mine.

"Monsieur de Lesperon," she pleaded, "of what do speak? You are
torturing me, monsieur."

"Look in my face, Roxalanne. Can you see nothing there of how I am
torturing myself?"

"Then tell me, monsieur," she begged, her voice a very caress of
suppliant softness, - "tell me what vexes you and sets a curb upon
your tongue. You exaggerate, I am assured. You could do nothing
dishonourable, nothing vile."

"Child," I cried, "I thank God that you are right! I cannot do
what is dishonourable, and I will not, for all that a month ago
I pledged myself to do it!"

A sudden horror, a doubt, a suspicion flashed into her glance.