"I was not very well. I believe I was light-headed. But I'm better now; my own proper self—not the person you have known."
"Indeed."
"And—I know." She drew back a little, looking down at her foot, which peeped out from under the hem of her gown, as if it were a curious thing—which it was, for beauty. "I know all that you did for me, how good you were."
"Then you know nothing."
She looked up at me with a sudden flashing in her eyes.
"I know all. I know that I didn't do it. Aren't you glad?"
"I never supposed you had a finger in the matter."
"That is strange. Appearances were all against me; you knew not what I was, or anything at all. I came into your room in—in a most disreputable way, with an impotent tale—which was none at all. My cloak was wet with blood. You have it now."
"I had it."
"You must have suspected me of at least some sort of hand in it; it would have been only natural."
"To me it seems that it would have been most unnatural."
"That's odd. I believe I'm suspected by all
