‘He has confessed it to Mama,’ sobbed Rose.  ’Why did he not come to me first?  He has confessed it—­the abominable thing has come out of his own mouth.  He went to her last night . . .’

Juliana patted her shoulders regularly as they heaved.  When words were intelligible between them, Juliana said: 

‘At least, dear, you must admit that he has redeemed it.’

‘Redeemed it?  Could he do less?’ Rose dried her eyes vehemently, as if the tears shamed her.  ’A man who could have let another suffer for his crime—­I could never have lifted my head again.  I think I would have cut off this hand that plighted itself to him!  As it is, I hardly dare look at myself.  But you don’t think it, dear?  You know it to be false! false! false!’

‘Why should Mr. Harrington confess it?’ said Juliana.

‘Oh, don’t speak his name!’ cried Rose.

Her cousin smiled.  ‘So many strange things happen,’ she said, and sighed.

‘Don’t sigh:  I shall think you believe it!’ cried Rose.  An appearance of constrained repose was assumed.  Rose glanced up, studied for an instant, and breathlessly uttered:  ‘You do, you do believe it, Juley?’

For answer, Juliana hugged her with much warmth, and recommenced the patting.

‘I dare say it’s a mistake,’ she remarked.  ’He may have been jealous of Ferdinand.  You know I have not seen the letter.  I have only heard of it.  In love, they say, you ought to excuse . . .  And the want of religious education!  His sister . . .’

Rose interrupted her with a sharp shudder.  Might it not be possible that one who had the same blood as the Countess would stoop to a momentary vileness.

How changed was Rose from the haughty damsel of yesterday!

‘Do you think my lover could tell a lie?’ ’He—­would not love me long if I did!’

These phrases arose and rang in Juliana’s ears while she pursued the task of comforting the broken spirit that now lay prone on the bed, and now impetuously paced the room.  Rose had come thinking the moment Juliana’s name was mentioned, that here was the one to fortify her faith in Evan:  one who, because she loved, could not doubt him.  She moaned in a terror of distrust, loathing her cousin:  not asking herself why she needed support.  And indeed she was too young for much clear self-questioning, and her blood was flowing too quickly for her brain to perceive more than one thing at a time.

‘Does your mother believe it?’ said Juliana, evading a direct assault.

‘Mama?  She never doubts what you speak,’ answered Rose, disconsolately.

‘She does?’

‘Yes.’

Whereat Juliana looked most grave, and Rose felt that it was hard to breathe.

She had grown very cold and calm, and Juliana had to be expansive unprovoked.

’Believe nothing, dear, till you hear it from his own lips.  If he can look in your face and say that he did it . . . well, then!  But of course he cannot.  It must be some wonderful piece of generosity to his rival.’