He stopped in his furious walk and looked at her. She had ceased to speak, but was still standing pale and grim and pointing his way out.
He felt that he must keep his ground, and do his duty at any cost. He was sorry that his own rashness had raised obstacles in his path. He approached her and said:
“Madam, I take back my words. I beg your pardon for having uttered them. I will beg it on my bent knee to content you. Forgive me, and consider my rash words unsaid.”
“Indeed, I know not how to forgive you.”
“But when penitence is professed and forgiveness asked, it is a Christian’s duty to extend it,” said Dick, appealing to her conscience.
“Admit, then, that your words—the injurious epithets you dared to apply to my husband—were untrue.”
“Do you, who have so much trust in him, need to be assured that they were untrue?” inquired Dick, evasively.
“No, indeed, I do not. I know that Alexander Lyon is the very soul of honor.”
Dick bowed deeply and a little ironically, saying:
“But you require a fuller apology than I have yet made?”