She shook her head despairingly.
"Fulvia," he said, "if you will not speak I will speak for you. I can guess what arguments were used—what threats, even. Were there threats?" burst from him in a fresh leap of anger.
She raised her head slowly. "Threats would not have mattered," she said.
"But your fears were played on—your fears for my safety?—Fulvia, answer me!" he insisted.
She rose suddenly and laid her arms about his shoulders, with a gesture half-tender, half-maternal.
"Oh," she said, "why will you torture me? I have borne much for our love's sake, and would have borne this too—in silence, like the rest—but to speak of it is to relieve it; and my strength fails me!"
He held her hands fast, keeping his eyes on hers. "No," he said, "for your strength never failed you when there was any call on it; and our whole past calls on it now. Rouse yourself, Fulvia: look life in the face! You were told there might be troubles tomorrow—that I was in danger, perhaps?"
"There was worse—there was worse," she shuddered.
"Worse?"
"The blame was laid on me—the responsibility. Your love for me, my power over you, were accused. The people hate me—they hate you for loving me! Oh, I have destroyed you!" she cried.