“Nothing, of course; or less than nothing—just spurs to your contempt, it seems. Well, I don’t suppose there’s anything else to be said.”
“If I have made you feel how dishonourably you have acted, and how cruelly your conduct has crushed and ruined everything I hold dear, it may perhaps make you pause when you find your next victim.”
“I’m not likely to forget even without these lashes of yours to remind me.” I could endure no more of this merciless injustice. “I will go and see what Ivan is doing,” I added, recrossing the hall.
“Stop, if you please. I have faithful servants who will protect me if I am in any danger. I will not be beholden for my safety to you, M. Denver.”
I turned and looked at her scornful, angry face. I had rather she had struck me.
“My God!” I cried, “Even that;” and I sat on a lounge and put my hand to my head. There was a rustle of skirts, and when I looked up she had gone, and left me to my belated remorse and my new purpose.
I would have given anything for a single word of forgiveness, or even for a glance of some feeling less bitter than her contempt and anger. Well, it would have to come afterwards, when I had saved her, despite her repudiation of my help; and I rose to carry out my plan.
I went to Ivan and asked him what he had seen. He told me a number of men were round the house. He noticed that I was pale—for the interview with Helga had shaken me badly—and asked if I was ill.
“No, I am not ill, Ivan, but strange things have happened. Listen to me and help me. I am not what you have thought, but what I told you during the ride—M. Denver, an American. All unwillingly I have brought your mistress into great danger, and I am going to get her out of it. I am going to those men outside to convince them I am only what I have told you.”
“But——” he began excitedly.