He lingered to kiss her again, to push the soft hair back from her forehead, and it was only a final order from the sheriff that took him from her side.
The guards had escorted him out at last, or rather he had walked out proudly with them, though his heart was aching for her. They were already at the lower door when Lady Clancarty, recovering consciousness, sprang up to come face to face with Spencer. Then the truth flashed upon her and she stood before him with a terrible face.
“You—you betrayed him!” she cried, “you sent those men here to drag him away!”
Lord Spencer took it as a compliment.
“I did,” he said piously; “I delivered the traitor to his fate; I would do it were he my own flesh and blood. No sacrifice is too great for truth and justice.”
“You hypocrite!” cried Lady Betty passionately; “you have broken your sister’s heart for the sake of your pride—your politics! You have murdered my husband—my husband!” she wrung her hands in agony.
“I have done my duty,” he replied coldly.
“Your duty?” she cried bitterly; “was it then your duty to betray your sister’s husband? To force an officer and his guard into your sister’s rooms—to trample on her tenderest feelings—to mortify and crush her? Duty!” she repeated scornfully, “then may no man henceforth do his duty! Such virtue is more vile than vice—such courage worse than cowardice! How dare you face me or look at me? An injured woman! I mark your white face, sir, and I marvel at its pallor; it should burn with shame.”
Spencer ground his teeth in anger. “You saucy minx,” he said, “how dared you have that man here?”
“How dared I?” she repeated, “how dared I have my husband with me? Whom should I have with me if not my husband?”