The young man gazed at her as at an apparition, his lips falling apart, his face paling. He had never heard such a voice, never seen such an outburst of outraged human feeling before.
'Mrs Drummond, this is madness. I—I can make allowance for—for excitement——'
'Be silent, sir,' cried Helen, in her fury. 'Who do you suppose cares what you think? And how dare you open your mouth before me? It is I who have a right to speak. And I wish there were a hundred to hear instead of one. This man had absconded till he heard my husband was dead. Then he came back and assumed innocence, and laid the blame on him who—could not reply. I don't know who you are; but you are young, and you should have a heart. There is not a liar in England—not a thing so vile as this man. He has plundered the dead of his good name. Now go, sir. I have said what I had to say.'
'Mrs Drummond, sometime you will have to answer—sometime you will repent of this,' cried Golden, losing his presence of mind.
'I shall never repent it, not if you could kill me for it,' cried Helen. 'Go; you make the place you stand on vile. Take him away from my sight. I have said what I had to say.'
Mr Golden made an effort to recover himself. He struck his young companion on the shoulder with an attempt at jocularity.
'Come, Rivers,' he said, 'come along, we are dismissed. Don't you see we are no longer wanted here?'
But the lad did not answer the appeal. He stayed behind with his eyes still fixed upon Helen.
'Please, don't blame me,' he said. 'Tell me if I can do anything. I—did not know——'
'Thank you,' she said faintly. Her excitement had failed her all at once. She had put her arms round Norah, and was leaning upon her, haggard and pale as if she were dying. 'Thank you,' she repeated, with a motion of her hand towards the door.