Heaven had vanished and at his feet now yawned merciless, illimitable Hell.
"My lord," and the trembling voice of the outraged father broke in upon his thoughts, "my lord, I still await your answer—I'll not believe that nameless scrawl—I ask your word—only your solemn word, my lord, and all my fears will vanish. Swear to me, my lord, on the innocent head of my darling child that this letter holds nothing but calumnies and I'll believe you, my lord—if you'll swear it on her golden head."
Do you know that hush that to the imagination seems to fall upon the whole world just when a human heart is about to break? Michael felt that hush all around him now; the April wind ceased its moaning in the boughs of the young acacia trees, the reeds by the river bank sighed no longer in the breeze, awakened nature just for one moment fell back into winter-like sleep, and a shadow—blacker and more dense than any that can fall from an angry heaven over the earth—descended on Michael's soul.
To swear—as he had sworn this morning at the foot of the altar? To swear by that most sacred thing upon God's earth, her sweet head?—no!
"Will you swear, my lord, that this letter is but vile calumny?"
And Michael gave answer loudly and firmly:
"It is the truth!"
Less like a man than like an infuriated beast, the meek man—now an outraged father—literally sprang forward with upraised arm wielding the heavy dog-whip, ready to strike the miscreant in the face.
The proud, defiant head, noble even now in its humiliation, was bent without a murmur. Michael made no movement to avert the blow.
"Will you not kill me instead?" was all the protest which he made.