“Fiend—not to have the courage to fight him!” she flung back at him. “To crawl like a snake and let loose a river on a man! In any other country, he’d have been given a chance.”
This was his act in a new light. He had had only one idea in his mind when he planned the act, and that was punishment. What rights had a man who had stolen what was nearer and dearer than a man’s own flesh, and for which he would have given his own flesh fifty times? Was it that Carmen would now have him believe he ought to have fought the man, who had spoiled his life and ruined a woman’s whole existence.
“What chance had I when he robbed me in the dark of what is worth fifty times my own life to me?” he asked savagely.
“Murderer—murderer!” she cried hoarsely. “You shall pay for this.”
“You will tell—you will give me up?”
Her eyes were on the mill and the river... “Where—where is he? Has he gone down the river? Did you kill him and let him go—like that!”
She made a flinging gesture, as one would toss a stone.
He stared at her. He had never seen her face like that—so strained and haggard. George Masson was right when he said that she would give him up; that his life would be in danger, and that his child’s life would be spoiled.
“Murderer!” she repeated. “And when you go to the gallows, your child’s life—you did not think of that, eh? To have your revenge on the man who was no more to blame than I, thinking only of yourself, you killed him; but you did not think of your child.”
Ah, yes, surely George Masson was right! That was what he had said about his child, Zoe. What a good thing it was he had not killed the ravager of his home!