She was silent.
“If I wrong you, look me in the face and say so.”
He waited; still holding her motionless.
She tried to lift her eyes and look at him; she had never before quailed before any duplicity, never before been unequal to the demands which any necessity for falsehood put upon her. But now, for once, she dared not meet the eyes of this man whose lifelong affection she had abused, and whose family she had dishonored. For once she could not lie; for once her defiant audacity failed her; for once, for a brief passing moment, she saw herself as he would see her could he know all. Standing before him, in his grasp, her head drooped, her whole form trembled, her eyelids closed; she dared not meet his gaze.
He understood.
He released and thrust her from him.
“Would to God our mother had never borne you!”
He grew pale as ashes; for the moment he had difficulty to restrain himself from striking to the ground this woman who had dishonored his race.
She took her coat off the table and turned away.
“Take me to the boat,” she said imperiously. “I scarcely suppose you want your crew to see that we have quarrelled?”