“Liar and adultress!” he exclaimed, in a violent fury. “I demand to know what you mean. You know well enough that I am not a man to be trifled with. Explain yourself.”
“I say, I believe my life to be in danger—that is my answer.”
“Who cares what you believe? Your life—it doesn’t much matter how soon it comes to an end—certainly, not as far as I am concerned. You are an adept at dealing in inuendoes—I deal with facts. I wish to be rid of you.”
“I am well aware of that. My life has been for a long time almost insupportable, and it would indeed be a joyful hour when I could feel assured that I was about to part from you, so that I might never see you more.”
“The feeling is quite reciprocal, madam,” said Bourne. “I hope the hour is at hand, for both our sakes. You have passed through many grades in the social scale; you can now return to the arms of your admirer and protector—your ruffianly husband—who is a thief, and for aught I know may be a murderer as well.”
“You base, infamous man,” cried Mrs. Bourne, in a perfect frenzy, “you have not one spark of honour in your whole composition.”
Upon the impulse of the moment she caught hold of a scent bottle, which stood on the table, and hurled it at her husband. It struck him a sharp blow on the left cheek.
He sprang forward and struck his wife with his clenched fist. Then he wound his fingers around her throat, and pinned her to the wall.
“You common harlot,” he exclaimed, “I’ll make an end of you at once, and take all consequences.”
He pressed the unfortunate woman’s throat with such force that she was half strangled. She made a desperate struggle to release herself, and called out for assistance, being under the impression at the time that he would carry his threat into execution; but her cries were soon stifled by her brutal husband.