Then she waited.
CHAPTER XI.
UNMASKED.
Miriam's accusation came on Barton like a bolt from the blue. For a moment he seemed utterly incapable of speech—while of emotion he showed not a trace. Casting a terrible look on the woman who at once defied and threatened him, he rapidly counted his chances against her. A very brief survey of the existing circumstances sufficed to assure him that the power to coerce her was his. Then an ironical smile broke over his withered face. He glanced at door and windows to assure himself that they were closed. The subject under discussion was too dangerous a one for him to run any risks in that direction. When he spoke it was with all calmness and some irrelevance.
"Won't you sit down, my dear?" he said. "We can talk as easily sitting as standing—more easily perhaps."
As composed as himself, Miriam took a chair, and prepared for the encounter.
"I won't have Jabez harmed," she repeated, "especially by you, who are every wit as bad, if not worse than he is. In a moment of weakness you extorted from me his real name, and thereby you learned more about him than I intended you should learn. But why you should desire to have arrested a man who, whatever his sins, has never harmed you, I do not know. But, understand, I shall stand between you and Jabez—I will protect him. I know too much about you, Mr. Barton, for you to treat me with impunity, and I think you know it."
"And this is gratitude," said Barton, casting up his eyes. "I drag you from the gutter, feed you, clothe you, introduce you to respectable society, and you turn on me!"
"What you did, you did for your own ends," retorted Miriam coldly, "and you know well that I am not from the gutter. There can be no question of philanthropy on your part, or of gratitude on mine."