replied fervently. "Heaven is my witness
that I am innocent of those abominable crimes imputed to me. Sir
Marmaduke took me to that house of evil, and a cruel plot was there
concocted to make me appear before all men as a liar and a cheat, and to
disgrace me before the world and before you. That the object of this
plot was to part me from you," added Richard Lambert more calmly and
firmly, "I am absolutely confident; what its deeper motive was I dare
not even think. It was known that I ... loved you, Sue ... that I would
give my life to save you from trouble ... I was your slave, your
watch-dog.... I was forcibly removed, torn from you, my name disgraced,
my health broken down.... But my life was not for them ... it belongs to
my lady alone.... Heaven would not allow it to be sacrificed to their
villainous schemes. I fought against sickness and death with all the
energy of despair.... It was a hand-to-hand fight, for discouragement,
and anon despair, ranged themselves among my foes.... And now I have
come back," he said with proud energy, "broken mayhap, yet still
standing ... a snapped oak yet full of vigor, yet ... I have come back,
and with God's help will be even with them yet."

He had straightened his young figure, and his strong, somewhat harsh
voice echoed through the oak-paneled hall. He cared not if all the world
heard him, if his enemies lurked about striving to spy upon him. His
profession of love and of service to his lady was the sole remaining
pride of his life, and now that he knew that she believed and trusted
him, he longed for every man to hear what he had to say.

"Nay! what you say, kind Richard, fills me with dread," said Sue after a
little pause. "I am glad ... glad that you have come back.... For some
weeks, nay, months past, I have had the presentiment of some coming
evil.... I have ... I have felt lonely and...."

"Not unhappy?" he asked with his usual earnestness. "I would not have my
lady unhappy for all the treasures of this world."

"No!" she replied meditatively, striving to be conscious of her own
feelings, "I do not think that I am unhappy ... only anxious ... and ...
a little lonely: that is all.... Sir Marmaduke is oft away: when he is
at home, I scarce ever see him, and he but rarely speaks to me ... and
methinks there is but scant sympathy 'twixt Mistress de Chavasse and me,
though she is kind at times in her way."

Then she turned her eyes, bright with unshed tears, down again