“Do not blaspheme. She who sleeps there is nothing, or should be nothing, to you. Leave the room, or, by Heaven, I shall have to make you!”
Beside himself with excitement, Santley glared at Haldane, and clenched his hands, as if he would have struck him; but, remembering the place in which he stood, and the solemnity of the occasion, he conquered his insane impulse, and tottered to the door. Haldane followed, and as he turned on the threshold, put out his hand and pushed him into the lobby; then followed, and turned the key in the lock.
“Come with me,” he said, in a voice of command.
Santley obeyed, and the two descended the stairs. On the way down they met Baptisto ascending, with whom Haldane whispered hurriedly for a moment. Then they made their way through the dark lobbies, and again entered the gloomy drawing-room. With a groan Santley threw himself on a chair, and hid his face in his hands.
“You are strangely moved,” said Haldane, coldly. “What was my wife to you, that you should exhibit this unseemly grief?”
Santley drew his hands from his face and looked up wildly.
“What was she to me?” he cried. “More than life—the light of all the world. Now that light is gone, and I am desolate.”
“Strange, words,” said Haldane quietly, “to come from so holy a man! You are not in your sane mind.”
“God knows I am not,” returned the clergyman, “and yet... I am sane enough to know what I am saying. Yes, you may stare! I am sick of disguise. I’ll wear the mask no more. I loved your wife.”
Still perfectly retaining his composure, and almost smiling, Haldane said, with a dark sneer—