He turned to go. A cry of anguish broke from her. She rushed in pursuit of him, flung her arms about him, sobbing: "No, no, I won't let you! You've no right to leave me. I've given up everything for you. I've been everything to you. You can't leave me! Don't, don't, don't!"
He was too deeply embittered to have mercy. Her panic only angered him the more. He ripped her hands from his shoulders, jeering at her: "Agh, you're faithless to your duty to your husband, faithless to your love of me, faithless to everybody—everything."
"Don't say that, Harvey," she pleaded, brokenly. "Take that back."
"You've killed my trust," he raged. "You've killed my love. I hate the sight of you."
She put her hand over his cruel mouth to silence it. "Don't let me hear that from you—pity me, pity me!"
He tried to break her intolerable clasp, but she fought back to him. Abruptly she ceased to resist. She just stared past him. Startled, he looked where she stared. She whispered:
"Some one is behind that curtain—listening!"
The curtain trembled, and she gasped again: "Look!"
A shudder of uneasiness shook him, but he muttered: "It's only a draught from somewhere."
"Perhaps it is," she answered, weakly. "I feel all cold." And then she stared again and whispered: "No! See! There's a hand there in the curtain!"