“You can’t solace yourself even with that,” said he, shaking his head.  “Up to three days ago I was as much in ignorance as you.  It was no fault and no concern of mine; you and Professor Valeyon chose to deceive yourselves, and me.  Nobody can be more innocent than I!  Nobody can regret more, on some accounts, that our relationship is no closer!”.

In this last sentence the tone of mockery he had assumed was somewhat overstrained; a suspicion of underlying sincerity grated through it.

“Don’t say you didn’t know!” said Abbie, in a guttural voice, clasping and wringing her hands, and turning her head from one side to another; “don’t dare to say it!  No—­no! you did—­you did!  You did know it, and God will punish you—­God will condemn you!  He must—­He will!” She could not endure to believe that, having been defrauded in her love, she was to be defrauded also in her hate and thirst for revenge.  She could live by either; but to be deprived of both was death!

Bressant made no reply to her uncanny petition, and a silence followed.  Abbie stood wringing her hands, waving her head, and drawing her breath sobbingly between her teeth.  Was she the same woman—­stately, and almost beautiful—­who had spoken so loftily and tenderly but a few minutes before?  Are human generosity and affection founded on no securer basis?  Her appearance was now revolting.  Suddenly a thought struck her.

“Ah! but she—­she can’t escape,” she broke forth, seizing upon the idea with a grisly eagerness of exultation.  “You can’t get her away from me; I know her, oh!  I know her, and I condemn her, I hate her—­God! how I hate her.  She shall never be forgiven—­never, never.  You can never cheat me out of her, for I know her.”

Abbie pressed both hands to her head.

“You had better hold your tongue, old woman,” Bressant said, in a low voice, and a deadlier passion than anger looked from his eyes as he fastened them upon her.  “You’re so hungry to send a soul to hell, take care you don’t find yourself there.  Do you think your past life can save you?  Wait till I’ve told you what it has been.  You began by blasting a true man’s life, trusting too easily, against all internal evidence, to the lies that were told you about him.  Next, you married the liar, not loving him, but so that the other might hear it, and believe you had forgotten him; so you acted a lie to him, and prostituted yourself bodily and spiritually to gratify your pride and revenge.  Not the sort of thing that gets people to heaven, so far, is it?”

Abbie still pressed her hands to her head, and stared before her without speaking.

“You were false to your marriage vows; after that, you neglected your husband no less than he you; you never tried to make yourself lovable to him; you were the only wronged one! you could do no wrong yourself!  At last you had a son.”

She raised her eyes, which, during the last few minutes had become bloodshot, and fixed them fearfully upon the young man’s face, as he continued: