"Two men are dead, who perhaps desired life. And one who desired death still lives. What meaning would you have?" The blankness of her face astonished him. For a brief instant he felt something akin to genuine horror. What could have happened to transform the lithe, innocent creature of so few days before? But the thought could not penetrate deeply, for now the smaller man had begun to speak. "You see, Captain, it's just as I told you." He spoke rapidly, eyes wide and shifting with the obvious lie. "She `ates us. Set a trap for us she did, acting all seductive like. Then her man jumps down from the rocks---" "You shut your mouth!" cried Purceville bitterly. He had seen Mary's torn dress, and knew how much faith to place in the character of these men. "Get out of here," he said. "Back to the barracks. And God help you when I return." The small man rode off in haste, but did not go where he was sent. As he struck the high road he turned to the south instead, and fled into obscurity. The Englishman dismounted and came closer. His face was a study of inner conflict, as rage and compassion warred inside him. Mary had little doubt (nor was she wrong) which side would win. "Why?" he asked flatly, stopping a few feet away. "Why didn't you wait for me? If you had. . .none of this would have happened." The girl slowly lowered the body, then stood to face him. "In the name of God, Stephen, is there any part of you that isn't utterly cruel? Do you think I don't know that?" This was too much. Her patience expired, and she no longer cared for the consequences. "Am I supposed to feel worse because I also hurt your feelings? Am I supposed to equate that with the death of two men, one of them my cousin? Damn you! If you possessed the least sensitivity you'd have known three days ago there could be nothing romantic between us. And today. If I had thought for one moment that you would listen to reason, and let me explain---" "What would you explain!" he cried hotly. "That you have been sleeping with a traitor? That you prefer his filthy Scottish bed to mine? That you are a whore, like all the others? Well? Why don't you speak!" "I am very sorry for you," she said at last. "You are blind, as no man I have ever known. You will never learn, and you will never change." And with that she turned her back on him. For a single moment he stood transfixed, loving, and at the same time hating. . .her . She knew him as no one else, and had always spoken the truth. But the words she spoke now were not soothing, were not the gentle words of comfort he sought. Instead they burned, like salt on an open wound.