THE ENEMY IN THE HOUSE
left in London, but in an anguish as of penitence, the impotence of a child at the reproof of an angry parent, in contrition, remorse, or humiliation. He could not understand. But, straightening himself with a stern dignity, which sat well upon him, he replied in a tone so low that its vibrant note barely reached her ears.
“This, madame, … even this.”
When she looked up at him again it was with clear, level, unflinching eyes.
“Monsieur—” she began, haltingly.
But he held up his hand. “I had hoped to have withdrawn ere this upon my own ship and to have left you.”
“Thank God that you did not. I would atone to you for many things. Could you have deserted us? You owe me a greater debt of humiliation and abasement than you can ever hope to pay. But would you abandon us to that crew of demons below! Ah,” she shuddered; “it is a vengeance worthy of the name.”
“Madame, the sparks of such hatred as that you bear for me are best unfed to flame. You shall be adequately guarded upon the San
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