"Unhappily, my child!"
"Why should you doubt my word, monsieur? Have I ever in my life deceived you?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "How can I tell!" he sneered.
"Perhaps, perhaps, m'sieur—if he withstands the torture and persists to lie, you will then torture me? You do not see, though I see. He has planned that you should bring me here for his revenge. Therefore, he will not tell the truth! Will you torture me, m'sieur?"
"My child, you are a fool. It is the truth that I am seeking. I would give you the jewels, if you needed them. But this I shall not do—permit that man to triumph over me, in one iota! Why, Marion"—his voice broke—"he once obliged me to shake hands with him!"
I thrilled to hear him, for I saw he spoke the truth, and I understood at last how bitterly he had brooked the way that I had used him. I could write a sermon here on pride and vanity, if I had a mind. Good heavens! to what heights will they not drive, to what depths will they not drag their victims! But let another pen than mine essay the task. It is Homeric and beyond my powers to do it justice.
Marion left the surgeon's side, and came very close to me. "Agar Hume," she murmured, "I have used you ill, but how ill I did not dream till now. As God hears me I would never have betrayed you, if I had known it could have meant, what it has meant, and means!"
"Go on!" said I, "your voice is very sweet."
"You loved me once," she whispered.
"I did indeed."