"Then God forgive you, for it's little forgiveness you'll ever get from me."
Griff, for the first time since he had known her, was furious with his wife.
"Kate, for shame—for shame!" he thundered.
But across the room she sent him such a look of tenderness—of idolatry, almost—that his anger died within him, and the shame returned on himself.
The preacher stood with head downcast; he had not come here to plead against a fair judgment, he had come to bear his punishment. A hush settled over the two men, and over the women who loved them.
Then it was borne in on Greta that the man of her choice was being cruelly ill-used. An anger, fierce as Kate's own, gave her words with which to meet the crisis.
"Have you never loved your husband, Kate Lomax?" she cried. "Have you never felt what it would mean if some other woman came between you—some woman who pretended to be your friend, and played you false behind your back? Would you want to kill her, or is this talk of your moor-bred women so much idle chatter?"
Kate looked at her husband again. That graphic touch of rivalry brought a grim smile to her lips.
"I think I should kill her," she said quietly.