Mollie rose slowly and gathered away her fallen hair from her face. Her cheeks were flushed pink with sleep, her eyes were calm and steadfast, full of invincible resolution. She sat down in the chair she had used for a pillow, and looked at him steadily.
"You may take that away, Doctor Oleander," she said. "I will neither eat nor drink under this roof."
"Oh, nonsense, Mollie!" said the doctor, in no way alarmed by this threat; "yes, you will. Look at this buttered toast, at these eggs, at this ham, at these preserves, raspberry jam. Mollie—'sweets to the sweet,' you know—look at them and you'll think better of it."
She turned her back upon him in bitter disdain.
"Mollie," the doctor said, beseechingly, "don't be so obstinately set against me. You weren't, you know, until I removed my disguise. I'm no worse now than I was before."
"I never thought it was you," Mollie said, in a voice of still despair.
"Oh, yes, you did. You dreaded it was me—you hoped it was that puppy, Ingelow, confound him! Why, Mollie, he doesn't care for you one tithe of what I do. See what I have risked for you—reputation, liberty, everything that man holds dear."
"And you shall lose them yet," Mollie said, between her clinched teeth.
"I have made myself a felon to obtain you, Mollie. I love you better than myself—than anything in the world. You are my wife—be my wife, and forgive me."
"Never!" cried Mollie passionately, raising her arm aloft with a gesture worthy of Siddons or Ristori; "may I never be forgiven when I die if I do! I could kill you this moment, as I would a rat, if I had it in my power, and with as little compunction. I hate you—I hate you—I hate you! How I hate you words are too poor and weak to tell!"