“I think I have got a clew.”
“And are you not generous enough to exert yourself without demanding of me this sacrifice?”
“No, Rose,” he said, “I am not unselfish enough.”
“But, consider a moment. Will not even that be poor atonement enough for the wrong you have done me,”—she spoke rapidly now,—“for the grief and loneliness and sorrow which your wickedness and cruelty have wrought?”
“I do not understand you,” he said, turning pale.
“It is enough to say that I have seen the woman who is now in prison,—your paid agent,—and that I need no assistance to recover Ida. She is in my house.”
What more could be said?
John Somerville rose, and left the room. His grand scheme had failed.