"I am a woman."
"Then you will not help to prove his innocence?"
"I cannot."
Hector got up quickly, took her by the wrists and dragged her up.
"Look at me, Lenise. Look well. Do you not know me?"
He felt her trembling; she marked every feature of his face. Gradually it all came back to her, overwhelmed her. She traced feature by feature—the eyes were his eyes, yes, the face was his face. He saw the dawn of recognition come over her and break into full light. She knew him; her eyes dilated with terror, her cheeks went ashen pale, her lips were colorless, her limbs trembled, she could hardly stand.
"Yes," he said. "It is I, Lenise, Hector Woodridge, and you are alone with me in this carriage."
"Mercy, Hector, mercy, I am only a woman."
"And you love me, you said so, you love William Rolfe?"
She sank on her knees, she clasped his limbs, looking piteously into his face. He saw how she suffered.