“I—I don’t mean that, dear; I can bear that,” she moaned. “It is your cruel words that hurt me so. How can you say such things to me?”
“Be silent, I tell you. I can only attend to this. If it is neglected, you may be lame for life.”
“Very well,” she said, with a passionate cry; “let me be lame for life—let me die of it if you like, but you must, you shall listen to me, dear.”
“I will not listen to you now—I will not at any time. You have killed my faith in you, and I can never believe or trust in you again.”
“But you shall listen to me,” she cried; and with an effort that gave her the most acute pain, she drew herself up and embraced her knees. “You shall not touch me again until you listen to me. There!”
“Don’t behave like a madwoman,” he said, sternly. “Lie back in your place; you are injuring yourself more by your folly.”
“It is not folly,” she cried; “I will not be misjudged like this by my own brother. Pierce, Pierce, I am not the wicked girl you think.”
“I am glad of it,” he said, coldly; “even if you are lost to shame.”
“Shame upon you, to say such words to me.”
“Perhaps I was deceived in thinking I found you there to-night with your lover.”