“What is it, Yvonne—what is it?” he cried, pausing in utter amazement after taking a few steps toward the door.
“Where are you going?” she whispered, following him with dragging steps. “Not to him?”
“Certainly not! Do you think I would betray you to him?”
“Wait! Give me time to think,” she pleaded. He shook his head resolutely. “Do not judge me too harshly. Hear what I have to say before you condemn me. I am not the vile creature you think, Frederic. Wait! Let me think!”
He stared at her for a moment in deep perplexity and then slowly drew near.
“Yvonne, I do not believe you mean to do wrong—I do not believe it of you. You have been carried away by some horrible———”
“Listen to me,” she broke in fiercely. “I would have sacrificed you—aye, sacrificed you, poor boy—in order to strike James Brood the cruellest blow that man ever sustained. I would have destroyed you in destroying him—God forgive me! But you have shown me how terrible I am, how utterly terrible! Love you? No! No! Not in that way. I would have put a curse, an undeserved curse, upon your innocent head, and all for the joy it would give me to see James Brood grovel in misery for the rest of his life. Oh!”
She uttered a groan of despair and self-loathing so deep and full of pain that his heart was chilled.
“Yvonne!” he gasped, dumbfounded.
“Do not come near me!” she cried out, covering her face with her hands. For a full minute she stood before him, straight and rigid as a statue, a tragic figure he was never to forget. Suddenly she lowered her hands. To his surprise, a smile was on her lips.