Almighty God could scarcely accord forgiveness!  Oh! save me from the presence of that man who can derive ‘satisfaction’ from the reflection that he has laid Henry and Helen Dent in one grave, under the quiet shadow of Lookout, and brought desolation and orphanage to their two innocent, tender darlings!  Shake hands with Clinton Allston?  I would sooner stretch out my fingers to clasp those of Gardiner, reeking with the blood of his victims, or those of Ravaillac!  Ah! well might Dante shudder in painting the chilling horrors of Cama.”

The room was dusky with the shadow of coming night; but the fading flush, low in the west, showed St. Elmo’s face colorless, rigid, repulsive in its wrathful defiance.

He bent forward, seized her hands, folded them together, and grasping them in both his, crushed them against his breast.

“Ha!  I knew that hell and heaven were leagued to poison your mind!  That your childish conscience was frightened by tales of horror, and your imagination harrowed up, your heart lacerated by the cunning devices of that arch maudlin old hypocrite!  The seeds of clerical hate fell in good ground, and I see a bountiful harvest nodding for my sickle!  Oh! you are more pliable than I had fancied!  You have been thoroughly trained down yonder at the parsonage.  But I will be--”

There was a trembling pant in his voice like that of some wild creature driven from its jungle, hopeless of escape, holding its hunters temporarily at bay, waiting for death.

The girl’s hand ached in his unyielding grasp and after two ineffectual efforts to free them, a sigh of pain passed her lips and she said proudly: 

“No, sir; my detestation of that form of legalized murder, politely called ‘duelling,’ was not taught me at the parsonage.  I learned it in my early childhood, before I ever saw Mr. Hammond; and though I doubt not he agrees with me in my abhorrence of the custom, I have never heard him mention the subject.”

“Hypocrite! hypocrite!  Meek little wolf in lamb’s wool!  Do you dream that you can deceive me?  Do you think me an idiot, to be cajoled by your low-spoken denials of a fact which I know?  A fact, to the truth of which I will swear till every star falls!”

“Mr. Murray, I never deceived you, and I know that however incensed you may be, however harsh and unjust, I know that in your heart you do not doubt my truthfulness.  Why you invariably denounce Mr. Hammond when you happen to be displeased with me, I can not conjecture; but I tell you solemnly that he has never even indirectly alluded to the question of ‘duelling’ since I have known him.  Mr. Murray, I know you do entirely believe me when I utter these words.”

A tinge of red leaped into his cheek, something that would have been called hope in any other man’s eyes looked out shyly under his heavy black lashes, and a tremor shook off the sneering curl of his bloodless lips.

Drawing her so close to him that his hair touched her forehead, he whispered: