"I might plead wine as an excuse, but I will not, or love, which I
dare not. All women are to be won, you know the roue's damnable creed. I
was in despair; a few words from a pure woman's lips had convinced me of
my unworthiness, and then I met Rosmore. He ridiculed me; suggested,
even, that my love was returned, goaded me to play the lover wilfully
and as a man who will not be beaten. Then the wine and the sham courage
that is in it drove me on. I sent a lying message, and she came to the
hall yonder. I would not let her go, and she cried out. In a moment they
came hurrying in upon us, Rosmore with them. They would have turned it
to comedy, laughed at her, applauded me; but Rosmore, Martin, drew his
sword to defend her--he had played for the opportunity. Had any other
man but Rosmore faced me I should say nothing, but he is worse even than
I am. You saw the end."
"She was shielding you," said Martin.
"I know. I do not count, but Rosmore desires her, Martin. He thought to
stand high with her by killing me to-night. She must never belong to
Lord Rosmore. She will listen to you, Martin--she always does, she
always has.
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