'I, whom you have so cruelly wronged,
seek not for revenge. I alone despise
you, yet there have been hours in my
life when the thirst for revenge has
been great. Alone in this room with
yon, the thoughts of the past crowd
wildly upon me, I again see Henri
dying. I hear him calling upon you in
his raving, and again he reveals to me
your husband, his brother, your love."
As he spoke, De Ceran arose, his eyes
gleamed with a fierce light, and his
breath came hot and fast through his
parted lips.
'My Ood I have pity upon me,' ex
claimed his listener. 'It is false I
swear that it is false,' she added, rais
ing her eyes with a ilrm, full gaze.
'Ton believe me mad, then,' con
tinned De Ceran, that I should credit
the words of a dying man in preference
to your own ? Again, I tell you, bis
words are burned into my memory,
buried in my heart, which they have
broken. In one brief honr I lost all,
and, in a moment of rage, of despair, I
could have killed him with my own
hand, but I remembered that he was
my brother, and through days of tor
ture I stood beside him. When death's
hand had chilled him I came to you.
You were about to become a mother.
