It was not murder he had caught in her wide-open eyes.

It was not hatred.

It was not madness.

It was a quivering, bleeding soul crying out to him in an agony that no other human eyes had ever revealed to him before.

And suddenly a great voice cried out in his brain, drowning all other things, telling him how contemptible a thing was love unless in that love was faith.
With his heart choking him, he turned again to Kedsty.