“I do not fear you,” cried she, in answer to this look; “for the wretched have no fear.  The hen will do battle with the fox, the rabbit with the stoat, to save her young.  If I can not save my husband, I will save my son.  I have come down here to do it.  You are known to me now for what you are—­a jail-bird.  If you dare to meet my Charley’s honest face again, I will tell him who and what you are.”

“Did Mrs. Basil tell you that, then?”

“Thus far she did,” cried Harry, pointing to the ticket which Richard had taken from her hand.  “Is not that enough?  She warned me with her latest breath against you.  ‘Beware of him,’ said she; ’and yet pursue him, if you would save your husband and your son.  Where Solomon is, there will this man also be.  Pursue, pursue!’ I did but stay to close her eyes.”

“And so she knew me, did she?”

“She knew enough, as I do.  Of course she could not guess—­who could?—­your shameful past, the fruit of which is there!” and again she pointed to the ticket.

“My shameful past!” cried Richard, rising and drawing himself to his full height.  “Who are you, that dare to say so?  Do you, then, need one to rise from the dead to remind you of your past!  Look at me, Harry Trevethick—­look at me!”

“Richard!” It was but one word; but in the tone which she pronounced it a thousand memories seemed to mingle.  An inexpressible awe pervaded her; she stood spell-bound, staring at his white hair and withered face.

“Yes, it is Richard,” answered the other, mockingly, “though it is hard to think so.  Twenty years of wretchedness have worked the change.  It is you he has to thank for it, you perjured traitress!”

“No, no; as Heaven is my judge, Richard, I tell you No!” She threw herself on her knees before him; and as she did so her bonnet fell, and the rippling hair that he had once stroked so tenderly escaped from its bands; the color came into her cheeks, and the light into her eyes, with the passionate excitement of her appeal; and for the moment she looked almost as he had known her in the far-back spring-tide of her youth.

“Fair and false as ever!” cried Richard, bitterly.

“Listen, listen!” pleaded she; “then call me what you will.”

He sat in silence while she poured forth all the story of the trial, and of the means by which her evidence had been obtained, listening at first with a cold, cynical smile, like one who is prepared for falsehood, and beyond its power; but presently he drooped his head and hid his features.  She knew that she had persuaded him of her fidelity, but feared that behind those wrinkled hands there still lay a ruthless purpose.  She had exculpated herself, but only (of necessity) by showing in blacker colors the malice of his enemies.  She knew that he had sworn to destroy them root and branch; and there was one green bough which he had already done his worst to bend to evil ways.  “Richard, Richard!” said she, softly.