“Is it in humanity,” returned the Knight, “not to be annoyed at the outrage?  How bitterly,” he added, looking sorrowfully at Winthrop, “is the pain of the wound aggravated by the knowledge from whose quiver flew the arrow!”

“I may not choose between my duty and my inclination,” responded the Governor.  “I were, otherwise, more unworthy than I am of the awfully responsible station which Providence hath assigned me.  It shall never be said that, through favor or other motive, I buried the one talent committed to my keeping.”

“I dared not, at my entrance,” replied the Knight, who strove to make his tone and demeanor conciliatory, “entertain the thought that a friendly feeling toward me lurked in his bosom, by whose mandate my helpless household has been invaded in the night and made prisoners, and my house turned into a heap of ashes.”

“It was by no order of mine,” said Winthrop, hastily, “that the house was burned, and I lament its destruction as deeply as yourself.  How it caught fire, is to me unknown; but if by the act of our people and not of the savages, ample recompense shall be made.”

“How shall that be determined?  But I will not waste my words thereupon.  The loss of my house and other property is insignificant, compared with the cruel wrong done the Lady Geraldine and the dishonor to my name.”

“She, whom you call the Lady Geraldine, has been treated with all courtesy; and, considering what, in the judgment of the Council, has been proved against her, with more than she is entitled to.  For yourself, every opportunity shall be granted to clear off the clouds of suspicion hovering over you.”

“Only a clear field and no favor do I desire for myself; but for the persecuted lady, my cousin, I pledge you my knightly word that any charges reflecting upon her character as a virtuous and godly lady, are infamous and false.  You perceive, right worshipful sir, that I do not pretend to be ignorant of the accusations which inventive malice, hatched out of what cockatrice egg I know not, has brought against my suffering cousin, but I pronounce them, again, alike dastardly and without truth.”

“If so, she is, indeed, greatly wronged, though partly responsible herself therefor, as having confessed the same.”

“Then have strange means been employed to make her acknowledge a lie,” said the Knight, warmly, “for any such confession were utterly untrue.  I have heard of wretches, who, upon the rack, in order to escape its intolerable agonies, have accused themselves of all sorts of crimes of which they were innocent.  Is this the way you have abused my relative?”

“Sir Christopher,” answered Winthrop, mildly, “you know as well as I that such practices are alien to the spirit of British law and unused by us.  Touching this unhappy female, I think it meet to say no more at present, but will wish you success in the vindication of yourself.”

“For myself,” replied the Knight, “I care little.  The character of a man is like a garment, which, when soiled, may be washed and restored to a likeness of its pristine beauty; that of a woman resembles white paper, whereupon if a drop of blood has ever fallen, it may never be erased.  But what are the accusations devised against me?”