"It would seem so," Jeffard retorted, and his smile was harder than his words. "It is quite conceivable that you should believe it of the man who once took your charity and made a mock of it. May I go now?"
"Oh, no, not yet; not until you have promised me to spare and slay not, for this once. Think of it a moment; it is the price of a human soul! And it is such a little thing for you to concede."
The hard smile came and went again.
"Another man might say that Margaret has come to be very beautiful, Miss Elliott."
The indignation was gone out of her eyes, and her lips were trembling.
"Oh, how can you be so hard!" she faltered. "Will nothing move you?"
He met the beseeching with a steady gaze that might have been the outlooking of a spirit of calm superiority or the cold stare of a demon of ruthlessness. The mere suggestion of the alternative made her hot and cold by turns.
"I wonder that you have the courage to appeal to me," he said, at length. "Are you not afraid?"
"For Margaret's sake I am not afraid."
"You are very brave—and very loyal. Do you wonder that I was once moved to tell you that I loved you?"