'Do you love this man?'
The girl was half dazed, but she directed her gaze towards the pitiless face. Then Menotah, attracted possibly by sympathy for one who was to suffer her pangs, drew nearer and looked closely at her features. Then she said, 'You are his wife?'
The other moistened her dry lips. 'I was,' she muttered.
'He deserted me for you.' She hung on every syllable. 'When he said he loved me, you were at his heart; when he caressed me, he thought of you; when he spoke tenderly, he forgot it was not you he was addressing.'
An angry flush of shame crossed Marie's brow. 'He never cared for me—the traitor. And I hate him.'
Menotah turned. 'So; she who was your wife before your own people has nothing for you but hatred.' Then she picked up the key, which Lamont had dropped in his sudden fright. 'It is time,' she said quietly, then unlocked the door and threw it wide open. She cast aside the cloak, while the knife glittered as she stretched forth her arm. 'You may pass if you wish.'
He was stupefied at this new move, and wondered at her meaning. Beyond he could see the lamp light flickering in the hall, and further, half hidden in shadow, the dim outline of the outer door. In that direction lay liberty. How simple it was! A quick bound forward, two or three steps, and life would be his again.
But then the cold voice struck on his ears again,—
'First I will warn you. As you pass I shall strive to wound you. A touch with this knife is death.'
He stood irresolutely, while a contemptuous smile broke over Marie's white countenance.