"Why do you not put your hand on the book and speak?" she asked in the low, concentrated voice of passion.
Again he looked hurriedly at her. A flash of lightning illumined her features, and he quailed before an expression such as he had never seen before on any woman's face.
"I—I—cannot," he faltered.
The Bible dropped from her hands, they clasped, and for a moment she seemed to writhe in agony, and in a low, shuddering tone she said:
"There are none to trust—not one."
Then, as if possessed by a sudden fury, she seized him roughly by the arm and said hoarsely:
"Speak, man! what then did you mean? What have all your tender speeches and caressing actions meant?"
Her face grew livid with rage and shame as the truth dawned upon her, while poor feeble Gus lost his poise utterly and stood like a detected criminal before her.
"You asked me to marry you," she hissed. "Must no one ask your immaculate sisters to do this, that you could not answer my simple question? Or, did you mean something else? How dare you exist longer in the semblance of a man? You have broken the sacred law of hospitality, and here, in my little home that has sheltered you, you purpose my destruction. You take mean advantage of my poverty and trouble, and like a cowardly hunter must seek out a wounded doe as your game. My grief and misfortune should have made a sanctuary about me, but the orphaned and unfortunate, God's trust to all true men, only invite your evil designs, because defenceless. Wretch, would you have made me this offer if my father had lived, or if I had a brother?"
"It's all Van Dam's work, curse him," groaned Gus, white as a ghost.