“I have tried,” repeated Petronella sadly; “and when thou hadst gone and the tempest had something subsided, I tried as never before to be a loving daughter, and make up to him for the loss of his son.  But he would have none of my love.  He drove me from his presence with bitter words.  I had perforce to seek others, if I were to live at all; and though he hurled taunts and harsh speeches at me oftentimes, he did not forbid me that house, albeit he scarce knew perchance how oft I was there, since he shut himself up more and more, and sometimes saw me not from one week’s end to the other.”

“What a lone life for thee, my sister!”

“Yes, it was lone, save for the comradeship of our cousins.  But that was better, far better, than what followed.”

Cuthbert looked quickly at her, and his eyes darkened.

“And what did follow, Petronella?”

She bent her head a little, that he might not see the expression of her face.  Her words were falteringly spoken.

“It was not many weeks since—­it was when the days began to lengthen out, and the forest paths to grow decked with flowers—­that some evil thoughts of suspicion came into his head, I know not how, and he dogged my steps as I wandered in the woods; and twice—­nay, thrice—­he came suddenly upon us as we walked together in the woodland dells.”

“’We? who was with thee, sister?”

“Philip,” she answered very softly, and there was something in the tender intonation with which she spoke the name that told a tale Cuthbert was not slow to read.  He had guessed as much before, but this made assurance doubly sure; and with the sympathy of the ardent young lover, he put his hand on Petronella’s and pressed it tenderly.  She understood the meaning of that clasp, and looked gratefully at him, going on with more confidence afterwards.

“It was with Philip that he found me; and the sight filled him with a sullen fury—­the fury that thou knowest, brother, which brooks no opposition, no words.  He would not hear Philip speak.  He struck him on the mouth—­a cruel blow that caused the blood to spring forth; and he dragged me away by main force, and locked me up in the pillared chamber, vowing to keep me a prisoner all my life an I would not promise never to speak with Philip again.”

“And thou?”

“I told him I would promise naught save to meet him no more in the forest.  I was glad to promise that; for I feared our savage father might kill him in a fit of fury were he to find us again together.  I should have been terrified to wander forth with him more.  I promised that, but I would promise no more.”

“And did that satisfy him?” asked Cuthbert breathlessly.  “Tell me all, my sister.  He did not dare lay hands on thee?”

Petronella smiled faintly.