Janet was with her in her room that night, and meaningly drew her attention to the tiny lights, but received so sharp a look for her pains that she ventured to say no more, and soon after left, the room to go and stand irresolutely in the passage, thinking. "He's there," she said, with malicious glee lighting up her eyes; "and he's forbidden to come. He played with me and tricked me, professing so much and then laughing at me, and telling me I was not to listen to old Wat Kilby. Suppose I trick him." She paused, thinking for a few moments, and then slipping into a small room--half dressing-room, half bureau--she took a cloak and hood from a peg and slipped them on. Meanwhile Gil had passed softly into the garden, and stood waiting in the darkness of the summer night, to see if Mace's looks towards him had any meaning, and he had not waited long before a faint click told him that the casement had been opened. "Mace." "Gil." "Why have you come?" "Because you were in trouble, Gil, and I wished to say a word or two of comfort, and to ask you of Abel Churr." "I know what you would say," he said, softly. "Am I guilty? Is't not so?" "Yes." He laughed gently as he strained his eyes to try and make out the outlines of her sweet face. "Mace," he said, "it is like old times to be here again, and there is more light and hope in my heart than there has been for weeks. Let me answer you with another question. If I were guilty, Mace, should I be here?" "No," she said softly, as her hand stole down, white and soft, amongst the roses, to be seized and held to his breast. "But tell me, Gil, with your own lips, that you are innocent; that this charge is not true, and I will believe you." "Mace, child, so help me--" "Stop," she whispered, hastily; "the man who loves me needs no oaths. Tell me on your word, Gil, as a gentleman, that you are guiltless, and I will believe." "There is my hand," he whispered; "place yours within it. There; does it burn?" "No," she whispered; "it is cool and soft." "Yes," he said, quietly; "but if it were stained with Abel Churr's blood it would burn and flush at the touch of your innocent palm. If I said there had never been blood upon it, child, I should lie; but it has been the blood of an enemy, shed in fair fight; and as often," he added, with a laugh, "it has been my own. Mace, you have never misjudged me, darling? Tell me that you never believed me to be the assassin they would make me out." "Never, Gil." "Thank God, then, that I was suspected." "What?" she cried, starting. "I say thank God that I was suspected." "Why?" "Because it has swept away the clouds between us, and turned your gentle heart to me because I was in pain and trouble: that is all." "Is that all, Gil? Did I ever turn from thee?" she faltered.