"And I am his wife," exclaimed Derrice, springing to her feet.
Mrs. Prymmer quailed before her haughty gesture. She was beaten, and, while Justin and Captain White maintained a discreet silence, she precipitated herself with angry celerity toward the staircase.
Derrice waited until she heard her enter the dining-room; then she turned to her husband, who had raised himself on his elbow, and was staring fixedly at her, his breath coming hard and fast, his eyes bright with a strange expectancy.
"Justin," she said, vehemently, "what is the matter with me? I feel as if I could strike any one that kept me from you."
The jealousy of a new-born love animated the passionate, almost fierce, little figure beyond him. In secret and exultant pride the young man marked her burning eye, the convulsive heaving of her beautiful breast, and her nervously extended hands.
"Come here, Derrice," he said, quietly.
She went readily to him, the young wife who had always been so shy, and, surrendering herself unheedingly to his caresses, struggled in vain for self-control.
"It was such a shock,—I heard you were dead. I ran, then I stopped; my breath was all gone. I thought of my father, but it did not comfort me. Justin, am I going mad?"
"No, no," and in intense and long-mastered emotion, he drew her head to his breast. "Lie there, dear child, and rest; you do not wish to leave me?"
"No, no," she murmured. "I have been a bad wife to you. I thought of it, and my heart stood still. I will do what you say now, I promised my father to be good."