Dorian Mountcastle laughed at her childish fears.
"His death or his life makes no difference now," he replied soothingly. "You belong to me alone, and no power on earth can take you from me. Perhaps he has some hold on your fortune. Is that what you mean? Let him have every penny, Nita. I have enough."
"Dorian, words are useless. I never can be yours. We must part."
He looked at her in amazement. He grew impatient at what he considered a silly whim.
"I do not understand all these silly fancies, Nita," he burst out angrily. "Perhaps you have ceased to love me, perhaps you have repented our marriage—is it so?"
"Yes, I repent it," she replied despairingly.
A flood of jealous rage poured like molten lava through his veins.
"You have met some one you love better?" he cried, in a voice so strange from excess of keen emotion that it did not sound like his own.
"No; ah, no, my love, my Dorian," she moaned, and suddenly flung herself at his feet. "Oh, I love you. I love you. I love you," she cried passionately, as she knelt there with upraised eyes.
Startled by her emotion, he stooped to raise her, but she resisted the effort.