Read it through once

The next moment Sir Miles’s thoughts had gone back to the recent episode. So absorbed was he in his musings, that when the King presently handed him the paper which he had been writing, he received it and pocketed it without being conscious of the act. “How marvellous strange she acted,” he muttered. “I think she knew me--and I think she did _not_ know me. These opinions do conflict, I perceive it plainly; I cannot reconcile them, neither can I, by argument, dismiss either of the two, or even persuade one to outweigh the other. The matter standeth simply thus: she _must_ have known my face, my figure, my voice, for how could it be otherwise? Yet she __said_ _she knew me not, and that is proof perfect, for she cannot lie. But stop--I think I begin to see. Peradventure he hath influenced her, commanded her, compelled her to lie. That is the solution. The riddle is unriddled. She seemed dead with fear--yes, she was under his compulsion. I will seek her; I will find her; now that he is away, she will speak her true mind. She will remember the old times when we were little playfellows together, and this will soften her heart, and she will no more betray me, but will confess me. There is no treacherous blood in her--no, she was always honest and true. She has loved me, in those old days--this is my security; for whom one has loved, one cannot betray.”