"Ah me! If these were but the times when witches reigned, gladly would I sell my very soul to the powers of evil in return for a charm—a spell—to ensure that man's eternal silence."
Under the stress of such desperate desires, she found it impossible to remain quietly seated. Rising, she moved restlessly and without object to and fro from end to end of the little room. Suddenly she noticed that her dress had brushed against the table, and become slightly soiled with plaster. It was but a trifling matter, but as she shook and brushed it clean again, a sudden hot anger burned in her veins.
"It is outrageous!" she said fiercely within herself—"outrageous, that I should be thus forced to hide, with fear and trembling, in back rooms! Oh, how I hate that man! How he degrades me! How he has cursed my life! From the very first hour we met he has dragged me steadily downwards, and now—now—he is going to use his own sin to damn all the remainder of my life!
"Promises—what does that word mean to Morris Kenyon? Did he not promise my father to watch over me—to guard me—and how did he keep his word? And what promises did he not make to me—oh, again and again!—in what tender, earnest tones; and then—liar, liar! Morris talking morality to me! What right has he to do that? What about himself? What injustice, what evil, equals that of a man—middle-aged, wise in the world, strong, clever—using every advantage to win a young girl, and then—then—pretending that, even in his eyes, his own success renders the girl, not himself, infamous for ever?"
She clenched her hands violently. The bright colour that had flooded her cheeks mounted to her temples.
"I hate him—I loathe him! But, Heaven, how I fear him! If he should—oh, if he dares! If he only dares, I'll—I'll...."
In the heat of this sudden but enduring paroxysm of anger she lost the power of further thought. Her throat swelled, and before she could control herself she had given utterance to a series of half-sobbing, half-moaning cries of misery and baffled rage. Frantically she pressed both hands with desperate energy across her lips. She had but little self-control left; only by physical force could she possibly stay those cries of fear and anguish.
Then she stood motionless, glued to the spot by apprehension. Surely the men in the next room must have heard that wild lamentation? She strained her ears for the sound of footsteps. Her breast shook with the convulsive pantings of rage that is forced to subdue itself. Every throb of her heart came as a sharp pang.
No sound—no sound whatsoever. Suddenly she reeled against the table, clutching at it for support. A terrible idea—a conviction—had now assailed her. Morris was doubtless even at this moment telling her secret to his cousin. Ah—she knew! A whispered conversation was going on in that strangely silent studio. Once again she was being cruelly betrayed by that man. This was surely more than flesh and blood could be called upon to endure.
In an instant all the tigress in her nature sprang eager and palpitating to the fore. Without a moment's hesitation she rushed wildly into the passage, and flung open the door of the studio.