There was but one amend, as he had told her.

Let him make it, and perhaps she would--out of gratitude, if out of no other feeling--come to think more kindly of him; and that night it seemed to him as he sat alone in that mean chamber that it were a better and a sweeter thing to earn some measure of her esteem by death than to continue in a life that inspired her hatred and resentment.

From which it will be seen how utterly he disbelieved the protestations she had uttered in seeking to detain him.
They were--he was assured--a part of a scheme, a trick, to lull him while Monmouth and his officers were being butchered.

And she had gone the length of saying she loved him! He regretted that, being as he was convinced of its untruth.

What cause had she to love him?
She hated him, and because she hated him she did not scruple to lie to him--once with suggestions and this time with actual expression of affection--that she might gain her ends: ends that concerned her brother and Sir Rowland Blake.