“Call me Miriam again.” “My sweet Miriam.” “Ah, Henrie—why do you start?” She lifted her face to mine. I kissed her forehead before I answered. “I started because you did not call me by my name. My name is Michael Le Bourse.” She looked at me with growing wonder in her eyes. “Michael Le Bourse? Ruth’s brother? He is dead.” “No, he is not dead. You did not see his body at Marmaduke’s. You were deceived. He is alive and well, and I am he.” As she gazed confusedly at me the wonder faded from her face. Then in a flash she seemed to comprehend it all. She broke from me and stood in the center of the room, burning with shame and anger. “If you are Michael Le Bourse, what are you doing here?” Oh, the sight was pitiful, both for her and for me. She stamped her foot madly. “What are you doing here? Are you a spy in my father’s house? You wretch, I see it now. You came here to avenge your sister. You tricked me into loving you. I hate you. I thought you were an honest man. The shame, oh the shame to have touched you. Is this your just religion? Where is your justice? In lying, in deceit, in being false to women? All, all to gain your own selfish ends. The dogs in my father’s kennels would hold better faith than that. Yet you judge others. You say we Catholics are untrue. God shield us, we are not ashamed to own our names.” I tried to interrupt her. She only drew her skirts about her and edged off as if I were diseased. “Don’t speak to me. Your poor sister! If she were alive it would break her heart to hear of this. She used to talk about you. I have heard her speak so often of your honor. This would break her heart. Stand by and let me go.” She moved towards the door, going by the edge of the room, so as to keep as far away from me as possible. “Mistress Van Volkenberg,” I said when she was near the threshold, “there is much justice in what you say.” “Of course there is much justice in what I say.” “But you are not right in all. I cannot explain everything now, but let me tell you my resolution. I am willing to make amends.” “Amends! You cannot. You are false to perdition.” “I can confess myself and give myself up to justice.” “Yes, your justice. Go to your sweet Earl and say, ‘Faith, I’ve been a naughty boy, forgive me.’ And he will say, ‘Yes.’ I know him. My father would not stand his evil practice and that is why he left the council. So your horseback-riding governor is your amends, is it? I see you are a coward as well as a villain. O God, can such men live and look like other men?” “No, mistress, this is not what I intended to do. I intended to go to your father.” “You dare not.” “That will be seen.” She opened the door and was on the point of going out when she turned back. “I believe you dare,” she muttered. Then she came quickly to my side. “Do not do it. It will do no good. It will throw him into a passion and he might—might—oh, fly, fly before it is too late.”