His perplexity was for the brother, with whom matters stood as on the first entrance of Miss Angel; and with regard to whose threatened _affaire d’honneur_, no hint of apology had issued from either side. Assuredly he could not stand up to the manling and seek to let blood that was of a common source with that of his demi-goddess. As surely, for all his tender respect for that same heavenly ichor, he was not going to lend himself to a solitary peppering from motives of delicacy. But, who was to make the first advances? He preferred putting this on one side, that he might obtain the better mental view of a picture that stuck very agreeably in his memory. This was of Angela, all flushed and softened, bending down to him from her horse as she sat mounted for her departure. “He is very ill and overcome--the poor servant,” she had said. “Be gentle with him for my sake.” And he had kissed her gloved hand, and taken rash oath that her whim should be his law. And beyond this, I will swear, he never reflected that she had made nothing of the presumed villainy of the man, as it affected his master’s safety, or that she had asked him, Robert Tuke, to take care of _himself_ for her sake. He came out of luminous retrospection to find his maid’s eyes fixed upon him with intently mournful regard. “Come here, Darda,” said he. The girl obeyed at once; and stood mutely at his side. “Your brother remains in bed, you say?” “Yes.” “Is he ill, or merely shamming?” “He is broken down--broken down and very ill.” She spoke in a low troubled voice--so low, that her master could barely distinguish the words. He shifted his position, so as to meet her full face. Her eyes answered the inquiry of his with some sad, crippled defiance. “Darda,” he said, “you tried to kill me, you know. That was stupid and wicked; for only great trouble could have come to you both had you succeeded. But, I forgive you; for you struck in passion and out of your love for that other. Now, tell me--you saw the stone; and was I not justified in putting him there on the strength of it?” “It would have killed him--the shadows would have killed him in a little time.” “Ah! we men are made of tougher clay.” “Not he--no, not he.” “He conspired against me.” “It is a lie. He never did.” “But the stone says so.” “Then it lies. Ask him. He will tell you the truth.” “I have it in my mind to do so. I will go now.” He rose as he spoke and went towards the door. Halfway he turned and came back to the girl again. “I have no wish to be harsh with either of you,” he said gently. “Could I convince myself you were faithful to my interests, I could prove, I think, a generous master.” He took her by the chin, looked in her eyes earnestly a moment, and went from the room. She stood a full minute, upright and rigid as he had left her. Then suddenly the tears were rolling down her passive face.