“I hear a step on the pebbles. Thank Heaven! somebody is coming. Good God! how my heart throbs. But I must feign sleep or I am lost. They are knocking at the door. Now to play my part. Oh, Holy Mother, forgive my sin! Remorse—no, it is my conscience—makes me cowardly.”
Tremblingly she leaned out of the window and looked.
“God be praised!” she cried. “It is Savin.”
Mad with joy, and penitent as Magdalen, she sped down-stairs, drew the bolt, tore open the door, and seizing Savin’s arm attempted to lead him within.
“At last!” she breathlessly cried. She noticed nothing strange in his appearance, so delighted was she to know that he was living. The gamekeeper surveyed his wife with unsteady eyes. Any other person would have seen that the poor fellow was wounded. Catherine saw nothing of the sort. His expression was awful in its intensity. Convinced that his wife was the cause of his wounds, he had dragged himself home to avenge himself, should he retain sufficient strength. With superhuman effort he had walked the whole distance alone. Blind to everything but the one thought that Savin had been spared to her, she attempted to embrace him.
“Miserable hypocrite!” he shouted. And with a great effort he raised his hand and struck her face.
“So violence and brutality are to be the reward for my penitence. Very well,” she wildly exclaimed, her better feelings again overpowered.
Without hesitation she slammed the door in Savin’s face and turned the key. Losing his balance, Savin uttered a groan as he fell on the steps with a thud.
Again the young woman mounted the staircase in anger.
“Why do I ever try to conciliate him?” she said to herself. “Twice he has repulsed me when I have tried to bring about amiable relations. But I have finished. Let him strike me again if he dares.”