Suddenly he heard her speaking, and he knew that it was half to herself and half to God. “So he is dead! Dear God—you have heard. Why did you suffer it? Oh, what a fool I am! Picked up in the gutter!” Martin’s hands were clenched. “Did I see the old place to-day? The sun was shining. Oh, dear God, why am I all alone? The boy is dead; you let him die. And I cannot bear it—I cannot bear it.” Nor could Martin Valliant bear that lonely, wounded agony of hers. It was as though she were drowning in the waters of despair, and there was no one to leap in and save her. Mellis stood leaning against the wall, her face turned toward it, her arms outspread against the rough stones. She did not hear Martin Valliant coming, but she felt a hand touch one of hers. She twisted around with startled fierceness. “Who touched me?” She saw him recoil. It was so dark now that his face showed as a pale surface; she could not see his eyes. “Martin Valliant.” His voice was awed, humble. “Do not be angry with me. I will go away if you wish it. I heard you cry out—and——” She guessed in an instant that he had overheard everything; that touch of his hand upon hers had been like the mute, tentative touch of a dog’s cold muzzle. Her flash of anger melted away. “It is you? How long——?” “I was there—behind the rest-house. I had run up, hearing you cry out. I think it was God Who made me listen.” “Ah, God is a great listener!” She was quivering with bitter emotion. “He listens, but He does not help. He has no pity. Yes, it is quite true; you know all that should have been kept secret. You know that I lied to you——” Martin made the sign of the cross. “I do not remember it,” he said. “That I called myself Catharine Lovel—that I was vowed to silence, and on a pilgrimage!” “I forgot all those things,” he answered, “when I heard the truth and your anguish.” She covered her face with her hands. “Now you will begin preaching a sermon.” “God forbid,” he said; “I think that this night is teaching me that I was not born to be a priest.” There was silence between them for a while. Martin Valliant did not move; he seemed set there like a statue. She could hear his deep breathing, a strangely human sound in the soft darkness. She began to speak again. “Perhaps you know that they murdered my father years ago, and now they have slain my brother. We were the Dales of Woodmere, and the Lord of Troy was our enemy. Why am I here? Why was my brother in Gawdy Town? Perhaps you can guess, if you are a man as well as a priest. We wanted our home and the lands that had been ours; we wanted revenge, we wanted a new king.” She looked at him challengingly in the darkness. “Now you know all. We were traitors to Richard Hunchback. We serve Henry Tudor. Now you can go to Troy Castle—if it pleases you—and tell the truth.” His voice began to sound a deeper note. “God’s curse be upon me if I do any such thing.” He walked up and down, and then came back to her.