Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. “Unbelievable. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. If you attempt to play the traitor, you will do so at the hazard of your life. They are used to me, they only cry because they have become so used to being here. ” She said mournfully.
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