"Found!" repeated Greenwood, electrified by that word, and not knowing whether it imported good or evil to him: "found! Did you say——"
"Yes—found," answered Miss Monroe;—"and by me!"
"By you, Ellen?" cried Greenwood. "No—it is impossible!"
"How, then, should I know that you had lost a pocket-book?" asked the young lady.
"True! And you have found it? Oh! then I am saved—I am saved! Give it to me, Ellen—give it to me!"
And he advanced towards her, with out-stretched hands.
"No—not yet," exclaimed the young lady, in a firm tone. "In this room—yes, in this very room—I went down upon my knees, and implored you to save me from disgrace—to give a father's name to the child who was then as yet unborn. And you refused my supplication—you turned a deaf ear to my agonising entreaties. Oh! I remember that scene but too well. You would not do me justice—and I told you that you might live to repent your cruelty towards me!"
"What! you will now avenge your alleged wrongs!" cried Greenwood, his countenance becoming livid with mingled fear and rage: "you will deliver me up to justice? No—I will tear the pocket-book from you—I will destroy the proofs of my folly—my crime; and then——but why should I waste time in idle words like these; I must act! Give me the book!"
And he rushed towards her, as a tiger springs upon its victim.
But Ellen, light as the fawn, glided away from him, and took such a position that a table was between them, and a bell-pull within her reach.