"I heard the cry, and ran to the balcony at once.
That - that is all."
"But what did you see from the balcony?" asked Major Swan.
"It was night, and of course - it - it was dark," she answered.
"Surely not dark, Lady O'Moy? There was a moon, I think - a
full moon?"
"Yes; but - but - there was a good deal of shadow in the garden,
and - and I couldn't see anything at first."
"But you did eventually?"
"Oh, eventually! Yes, eventually." Her fingers were twisting and
untwisting the handkerchief they held, and her distressed loveliness
was very piteous to see. Yet it seems to have occurred to none of
them that this distress and the minor contradictions into which
it led her were the result of her intent to conceal the truth, of
her terror lest it should nevertheless be wrung from her. Only
O'Moy, watching her and reading in her every word and glance and
gesture the signs of her falsehood, knew the hideous thing she
strove to hide, even, it seemed, at the cost of her lover's life.
To his lacerated soul her torture vas a balm. Gloating, he watched
her, then, and watched her lover, marvelling at the blackguard's
complete self-mastery and impassivity even now.
Major Swan was urging her gently.
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