"For money?" With a scared movement she turned upon him, and for the first time since he had made his revelation, he saw her pale, alarmed, incredulous face in the full light of the fire.
"I was wronged!" he said, sharply. "These people had defrauded me. I wanted what was justly mine."
"Wanted?" The word formed itself almost inarticulately.
"Yes; wanted. Wanted with all my might. I have worked, schemed, suffered for this in ways you could never imagine. I thought myself invincible. I believed that if the devil himself stood in my way it would not deter me. And now you—a frail girl—have wrecked the scheme!" He paused again, leaning towards her in sudden unconscious appeal for comprehension.
"I won't say it hasn't been a struggle to come to you like this—to make my confession. It has. My conscience and I have been struggling night and day. I have held out to the last. It was only to-day—this very day—when I woke to face the crisis of my plans, that I knew I was beaten—knew the fight was over.
"And do you understand why this has happened? Do you know why I am going away as empty-handed as I came? It is because I have seen you—because I love you—"
He put out his hands. But as his fingers touched her, she thrust him away, freeing herself with fierce resentment.
"Don't! don't! don't!" she cried. "You call yourself an impostor—You are worse than that. Much worse. You are a thief!"
He stepped back as though she had struck him, and his hands dropped to his sides.
"Yes, you are a thief!" she said again, hysterically; "a thief!"