"What rights?" she asked.
"To have the wrong-doer punished."
"And the innocent as well? You would punish my mother, my father and me, although, of course, we already have our punishment." She waited a moment and then the cry was torn from her.
"Can't you see that merely having to come here on such an errand is punishment enough for me?"
She was bending forward, and her eyes blinked back the tears. He had never loved her so; he could not bear to look at her sitting there in such anguish.
"My God, yes!" he exclaimed. He got up hastily, plunging his hands in his pockets, and walking away to his window, looked out a moment, then turned; and as he spoke his voice vibrated:
"Don't you know how this makes me suffer? Don't you know that nothing I ever had to face troubles me as this does?"
She did not reply.
"If you don't," he added, coming near and speaking in a low, guarded tone, "you don't know how--I love you."
She raised her hand to protest, but she did not look up. He checked himself. She lowered her gloved hand, and he wondered in a second of great agitation if that gesture meant the withdrawal of the protest.