“That is a lie, Hamilton!” I cried, springing to my feet, “and, by God, you shall answer for it as soon as you are able to hold a sword!”

“I shall be very willing,” he returned, though it was evident he was somewhat cooled by my anger.  “But since you would know the cause of my ill-feeling, sit down and hear what I have to say.”

I resumed my chair, and he continued:  “I can see no reason for your cousin’s strange aversion to me save that you have used well the time of my absence in traducing me, hoping doubtless to smooth the king’s path by removing me from her thoughts.”

What he said did little to allay my anger until I looked into his face and saw that by reason of his fever and his great trouble, he was not responsible for his words.  I had been on the point of giving him the lie the second time, but after a moment’s consideration, my anger changed to pity, and I said:—­

“Forgive me, Hamilton.  I am sorry I spoke in anger.  You did not lie.  You have been simply jumping at conclusions.”

“Perhaps,” he answered wanderingly.

“But if I tell you, upon my honor, that you are mistaken, will you believe me?” I asked, still feeling a touch of irritation.

He did not answer, so, thinking to give him one more chance, I continued gently:  “I have neither harbored an unkind thought of you nor spoken an unkind word of you since the day we parted at Sundridge.  On the contrary, I believed that the hot moment there had welded a friendship between us which would last all our lives through.”

He walked over to the window, stood looking out a moment, then came back and resumed his chair before me.

“I do not favor your suit with my cousin to any greater extent than I did when we were at Sundridge,” I continued, determined that there should be no misunderstanding of my position in that respect, “though since that time I have learned that you are a far better man than I had ever supposed.  I have not recommended my cousin to the king, nor is she his favorite in the sense you seem to believe.  I do not know the cause of her aversion to you, and, sir, I have nothing else to say except that I take it for granted that you know I speak the truth.  This is my explanation.  It is for you to say whether you accept or reject it.”

I rose, giving him to understand that I was ready to take my leave, but he motioned me to resume my chair.  After gazing vacantly out the window for a moment, he covered his face with his hands and answered:—­

“I accept your explanation gladly, Baron Ned.  I have wronged you.  I have been in such turmoil of mind and conscience for so long a time that I am hardly responsible, and now I suppose I am in a fever because of the loss of blood.”

I resumed my chair, the difference being settled between us, and in a moment we began to discuss the cause of Frances’s sudden change.

It must be remembered that I knew nothing all this time of Hamilton’s remote connection with Roger Wentworth’s murder.  The dimly hinted rumors that had reached my ears I had put down to Crofts’s desire for a scapegoat, and the conversation between Frances and Nelly, and Nelly’s conclusions, all came to me after this interview with Hamilton.