He drew nearer to the stairs whereon she still stood, her graceful figure slightly leaning towards him; he now stood close to her, his head just below the level of her own; his hand had he dared to raise it, could have rested on hers.

“Sue! my beautiful and worshiped lady,” he cried impassionedly, “I entreat you to look into my eyes! ...  Can you see in them the reflex of those shameful deeds which have been imputed to me?  Do I look like a liar and a cheat?  In the name of pity and of justice, for the sweet sake of our first days of friendship, I beg of you not to condemn me unheard.”

He lowered his head, and rested his aching brow against her cool, white hand.  She did not withdraw it, for a great joy had suddenly filled her heart, mingling with its sadness, a sense of security and of bitter, yet real, happiness pervaded her whole being:  a happiness which she could not—­wished not—­to explain, but which prompted her to stoop yet further towards him, and to touch his hair with her lips.

Hot tears which he tried vainly to repress fell upon her fingers.  He had felt the kiss descending on him almost like a benediction.  The exquisite fragrance of her person filled his soul with a great delight which was almost pain.  Never had he loved her so ardently, so passionately, as at this moment, when he felt that she too loved him, and yet was lost to him irrevocably.

“Nay! but I will hear you, good master,” she murmured with infinite gentleness, “for the sake of that friendship, and because now that I have seen you again I no longer believe any evil of you.”

“God bless my dear lady,” he 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.