"It was a fight," she whispered. "It was not - " and she paused
upon the word.

"It was a fair fight on my dear master's part," said I. "As for
the other, he was slain in the very act of a foul stroke."

"Not now!" she cried.

"Madam," said I, "hatred of that man glows in my bosom like a
burning fire; ay, even now he is dead. God knows, I would have
stopped the fighting, had I dared. It is my shame I did not. But
when I saw him fall, if I could have spared one thought from
pitying of my master, it had been to exult in that deliverance."

I do not know if she marked; but her next words were, "My lord?"

"That shall be my part," said I.

"You will not speak to him as you have to me?" she asked.

"Madam," said I, "have you not some one else to think of? Leave my
lord to me."

"Some one else?" she repeated.

"Your husband," said I. She looked at me with a countenance
illegible. "Are you going to turn your back on him?" I asked.

Still she looked at me; then her hand went to her heart again.
"No," said she.