At the words, through whose silky softness it were easy for a keen ear to detect the note of bitter mockery, Gwennola flung back her head with a gesture of angry pride; her cheeks were flushed, and her blue eyes sparkled with an indignant fury. "Liar and traitor!" she cried bitterly, "viper, monsieur, that you are, thus to strive to poison the fame of a noble knight, because, forsooth! he chanced to witness the foul deed whereof you accuse him; but be warned, monsieur, sin wings its homeward way to the heart that brought it forth, and foully shall perish the hand that sought thy kinsman’s life, and the tongue that strove to tarnish his sister’s name." "Peace, woman!" snarled de Coray angrily, though his face grew pale as her words rang in the rhythm of a curse; then, turning to de Mereac with a shrug of his shoulders, "Monsieur my uncle sees," he said, his voice trembling with suppressed anger; "verily it would seem as though this Frenchman had bewitched the poor lady; perchance a little solitary confinement would best bring her to see the error of her ways, whilst we, monsieur, strive to undo what at worst might well be a foolish maiden’s mad whim, by seeking in yonder forest for the murderer, who doubtless could scarce ride far, if it be true that his wound was so sore." "Go to thy chamber, girl!" commanded de Mereac of his daughter sternly, "and seek repentance of thy waywardness and sin in prayer; it may be that if thy heart still remaineth obdurate, a convent cell shall be made to cure it." "Nay," interrupted de Coray with a smile; "methinks ’twere wiser, mon oncle, to give to me the sweet task. When I have the felicity to call mademoiselle my wife, be assured that I shall take good care to teach her how much foolishness there is in such acts which leave even the shadow of reproach upon so fair a fame." He looked for a tempest of anger or scorn doubtless from the girl beside him; but this time he was mistaken. White to the lips, Gwennola curtsied silently to her father, and without so much as a glance towards de Coray, walked with head erect and proud step down the long hall and up the narrow winding stairway which led to her own apartment. But coldness and pride vanished as, in a tempest of tears, she flung herself into Marie’s arms. "Would I were dead," she sobbed passionately. "Oh, Marie, Marie, such cruel words my father flung at me, and he scorned me, Marie—me, his little Gwennola, till I thought my very heart would break; and oh! the bitterness of it when that foul traitor, my kinsman, stood near, pouring forth his venomous lies into my father’s open ears; and he believed him, Marie. Ah! the shame of it, he believed him rather than trusting the fair honour of his daughter."