He reached her where she stood, rigidly waiting. He opened his arms to take her. And then--as though there had been the flash of a dagger between them--he stopped.
She had not moved. She did not move. But the blazing blue of her eyes gave him check. For the space of many seconds they stood, not breathing, not stirring; and in those seconds, as by the light of a piercing torch, each read the other's soul.
It was Saltash who gave ground at last, but insolently with a smile of bitter mockery. "This scene is called 'The Unmasking of the Villain,'" he observed. "The virtuous heroine, having descended from her pedestal to expose his many crimes, now gathers her mud-stained garments about her and climbs back again, in the confident hope that the worthy cow-puncher who owns her will conclude that she has never left her exalted position and that the mud was all thrown by the villain. Now, I wonder if the worthy cow-puncher is quite such a fool as that."
Her face was quite colourless, but she heard his gibe without a sign of shrinking. Only as he ceased to speak, she lifted one hand and pointed to the open door.
"Go!" she said.
Just the one word, spoken with a finality more crushing than any outburst of anger! If it expressed contempt, it was involuntary, she uttered only what was in her soul.
He looked at her, and suddenly the derision in his eye flamed into fierce malignancy. "Oh, I am going," he said. "You will never kick me from your path again. You shall tread it alone--quite alone except for the cow-puncher who no doubt will see to it that you walk on the stony side of the way. And I warn you it will be--very stony, especially when he comes to realize that his lady wife has been his ruin. A tramp across the world with Jake Bolton under those conditions will at least destroy all illusions as to the stuff of which he is made. And I wish you joy of the journey." He made her a deep, ironical bow, and swung upon his heel.
But as he went she spoke, suddenly, passionately, as though the words leaped forth, compelling her. "Jake Bolton is a man--a white man!"
Saltash laughed aloud, lifting his shoulders as he sauntered away. "With the heart of a beast, chère reine," he said. "For that cause also, I wish you joy."
He went. The sun smote through the empty doorway. She put up both hands to her eyes as though to blot out some evil vision.