The instant of doubt is the time of danger.

Then comes revulsion, bitterness, despair, folly.
John Law trod a step nearer.
"By God! Madam," cried he, "I would I might believe you.

I would I might believe that you, that any woman, would come to me at such a time! But tell me--and I bethink me my message was not addressed, was even unsigned--whom then may I trust?
If this woman scorns my call at such a time, tell me, whom shall I hold faithful?
Who would come to me at any time, in any case, in my trouble?
Suppose my message were to you ?" Mary Connynge stirred softly under her deep cloak.

Her head was lifted slightly, the curve of cheek and chin showing in the light that fell from the little lamp.

The masses of her dark hair lay piled about her face, tumbled by the sweeping of her hood.