"What do you want of me, Jean?"
He did not seem to know what he was saying, and the words escaped his lips as if in spite of himself.
"Want of you? Want of you? Can you ask that? Your memory is not dead. You know, and I know—— Why, I am your wife! Do you remember that day up among the Scotch hills, when, before God, you took me, you swore you would be faithful to me? Do you remember the promise you made on the day you left me? 'I will soon come back to you,' you said, 'and make our marriage public.' And I have never seen you since, until to-day! But now my hour has come!"
Usually Judge Bolitho was a man of resource. He seldom lost possession of his power to act wisely. He was seldom taken at a disadvantage. He was cool and daring. But now he seemed to have lost the sang froid for which he was so noted.
"Jean! Jean!" he said again and again.
"Yes, Jean," replied the woman. "The girl you deceived! The girl you married and then deserted! The woman whose life you have blighted and ruined! I had almost given up believing in God; but now—now—faith may come back to me; but it's only a faith inspired by hatred!"
"You hate me, then?" he said.
"Is it possible to do anything else?" she replied.
"Wait a minute," he said. "Let me think. I shall be able to speak connectedly presently. For a moment I've lost hold of things. Yes, yes; I don't deny anything; but wait a minute! What have you done with yourself all these years, Jean?"
"Done with myself? What could I do? I was almost without a penny. A few months after you left me my father drove me from home. I was in disgrace, and only hell seemed to gape at my feet!"