Vane looked him steadily in the face; a serious, compassionate, candid gaze.
"I am sorry you trust me so little."
Ornamented protests would have forewarned and forearmed his listener, whom the simplicity and manliness of the reply put off his guard; they made the loyal, generous nature that they dealt with repent as of some sin of false suspicion; rebuke itself, as for some ignominy of cowardly injustice. Moreover, Erceldoune saw that he knew much—how much it was best to learn at once, let the learning cost what it should.
"He has eaten at her board; he has enrolled himself her friend: he cannot turn traitor to her; he cannot play false to a woman!" his thoughts ran swiftly, in the tumult of a thousand emotions. It seemed to him so vile a thing, that to suspect even his rival of it looked base to him.
"Let us waste no words," he said, rapidly, while he stood facing the new-comer with the challenge of his gallant regard testing the truth of that glance which met them. "Time is life to me, and more than life. You guess rightly so far. Answer me two things. What do you know?—and why should you be trusted?"
