There was a rumour abroad that Bardelys was dead.

In the wake of that rumour I shrewdly guessed that the report of the wager that had brought him into Languedoc would not be slow to follow.

What then?
Would she love me any the better?
Would she hate me any the less?
If now she was wounded by the belief that I had made sport of her love, would not that same belief be with her again when she came to know the truth?
Aye, the tangle was a grievous one.

Yet I took heart.

My old resolve returned to me, and I saw the need for urgency--in that alone could lie now my redemption in her eyes.