"The money—no. Even though you were disgraced and convicted, Walter, I would have forgiven that, I would have tried to see you, to comfort you. I should have been sorry for you; I would have done what I could to help you. But I could not forgive you the rest; I never can."
"Bah! I never cared for her," said the convict. But under his livid skin there rose a faint blush of shame.
"You never cared for me—that is the reason I—am not glad to see you—"
"I did, Mary. Upon my soul I did. I love you still!" He rose and came near to his wife, and again he would have put his arm around her. But she sprang to her feet with an angry light in her eyes.
"If you dare to touch me, I will give you up!" she cried. Goddard shrank back to his chair, very pale and trembling violently.
"You would not do that, Mary," he almost whined. But she remained standing, looking at him very menacingly.
"Indeed I would—you don't know me," she said, between her teeth.
"You are as hard as a stone," he answered, sullenly, and for some minutes there was silence between them.
"I suppose you are going to turn me out into the rain again?" asked the convict.
"You cannot stay here—you are not safe for a minute. You will have to go. You must come back to-morrow and I will give you the money. You had better go now—"