Week after week she had suffered in silence.
The long-restrained tide of wrong flowed from her lips with a strange,
pathetic eloquence; and, as the rector held her hands, his own were wet
with her fast-falling tears. At last she laid her head against his
shoulder, and wept as if her heart would break. "He has been our ruin,"
she cried, "our evil angel. He has used Harry's folly and father's
goodness and Sophia's love--all of them--for his own selfish ends."
"He is a bad one. He should be hanged, and cheap at it! Hear him,
talking of having lived so often! God have mercy! He is not worthy of
one life, let alone of two."
At this juncture, Julius himself entered the room. Neither of its
occupants had heard his arrival, and he saw Charlotte in the abandon of
her grief and anger. She would have risen, but the rector would not let
her. "Sit still, Charlotte," he said. "He has done his do, and you need
not fear him any more. And dry your tears, my dearie; learn while you
are young to squander nothing, not even grief." Then he turned to
Julius, and gave him one of those looks which go through all disguises
into the shoals and quicksands of the heart; such a look as that with
which the tamer of wild beasts controls his captive.
"Well, squire, what want you?"
"I want justice, sir. I am come here to defend myself."
"Very well, I am here to listen."
Self-justification is a vigorous quality: Julius spoke with eloquence,
and with a superficial show of right.
Pages:
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234