Because I must do the work that remains--" "And that work is-- ?" "Vengeance!!" Sholto was silent, trying to piece things together.

He found it hard to think.

He was but a boy, and experience so strange as that of the Lady Sybilla was outside him.

Yet vaguely he felt that her emotion was real, more real perhaps than his own instinct of crude slaying--the desire of the wasp whose nest has been harried to sting the first comer.

This woman's hatred was something deadlier, surer, more persistent.
"Vengeance--" he said at last, scarce knowing what he said, "why should you, who betrayed him, speak of avenging him ?" "Because," said the Lady Sybilla, "I loved him as I never thought to love man born of woman.