He pauses, but her bloodless lips offer no reply.
"Admit my rights as your husband, Vera, and I will fight with you and by your side for the grand heritage your father left you. I will summon Joel McPherson to your aid and prove your identity beyond all cavil. Deny me and I swear I will be terribly revengeful for your obstinacy. I will join the ranks of your enemies. I will deny that you are my wife. Your defeat will be certain then. Think of yourself penniless, friendless, branded all over England as an adventuress and impostor."
The beautiful face is deadly pale, the hands are clenched until the pink nails cut into the delicate palms. In silent agony she admits to herself that his threats are not at all idle ones. Sir Harry Clive's reluctant communications have prepared her for all this.
"Well, what have you to say to all this?" he asks of the silent figure before him.
"Nothing. I know that of myself I am utterly powerless. I leave my cause with God," she answers, briefly.
He smothers a curse on his dark mustached lips.
"So you will lose all rather than take me for your husband?" he asks her, in unfeigned amazement.
She lifts her eyes for a moment, and surveys him with a look of steady contempt.
"Have you still any doubt on that point?" she inquires, fearlessly and defiantly. "Let me assure you then that I would rather be a homeless beggar in the streets of London than submit to your loathsome love!"