Agnes turned round to look at him, with the colour gradually rising over her face. The look of defiance was still there, but over it, as it were, like another surface, was a flutter of painful hesitation and humility--humility which was compulsory, and all the harder on that account. She looked at him with a dilation of the eyes expressive of such mental strain and painful exertion, as he had scarcely ever been conscious of witnessing before, and with a thrill in her voice, answered him steadily, looking him all the time in the face. “It rests on my sister’s word, Sir, which is as the word of an angel out of heaven; for we’ve nae testimony--nae testimony! It rests upon Isabell’s word.” Fanshawe’s countenance changed. He could not help it; he was not used to conceal his sentiments; but almost before he was capable of realizing this new and strange avowal, the girl had started to her feet. “I am going home, Miss Heriot!” she cried. “You meant nae harm, but ye’ve given me another stroke--and we’ve borne enough from you and yours--” “Agnes,” cried Marjory, arresting her. “You cannot go away from me; whatever happens, we must work this out together. What has any one done?” “Look at him!” cried the girl, with pale indignation. “Oh, this is what I kent would happen if I was made to leave my ain way--to go among gentles, and make them believe, and summer and winter every word! He thinks it’s a lie. What does he care for our Isabell and her bairn? He cares for you; and he thinks that what I’m telling you is a lie!” Fanshawe did not contradict her. He looked at Marjory gravely, with a certain anxiety in his glance. He thought, as was natural enough, and as men so often think in respect to a woman’s judgment, that she had been led away by her feelings. He made her a little warning sign with his head. “If, as you tell me, her own mother did not believe this story, is it wonderful that I should hesitate?” he said. “I do not think it is a lie; but I fear she may have been deceived.” “By Tom?” said Marjory. She was almost as indignant as the other. “If Isabell has been deceived, then Tom--my brother, has been a---- What can I say? Is there a word bad enough--vile enough?” He was cowed between these two young women. He dared not say, as he might have said elsewhere, that men do not form the same harsh judgment of such deceptions. He made a gesture of deprecation, holding up his hands in entreaty. “You are too hard upon me”, he said. “I did not mean to blame either side; but if this is so, why cannot these people--the witnesses--be produced?”