Here was logic hard and clear as ice; and the knight of Arwenack was no fool.

But whilst he stood frowning and perplexed at the end of that long tirade, it was Rosamund who gave Sir Oliver his answer.
"You ran no risk of reproach from any, do you say ?" He turned, and was abashed.

He knew the thought that was running in her mind.
"You mean," he said slowly, gently, his accents charged with reproachful incredulity, "that I am so base and false that I could in this fashion do what I dared not for your sake do openly?
'Tis what you mean.
Rosamund! I burn with shame for you that you can think such thoughts of one whom...

whom you professed to love." Her coldness fell from her.

Under the lash of his bitter, half-scornful accents, her anger mounted, whelming for a moment even her anguish in her brother's death.
"You false deceiver!" she cried.