'Elijah deserves not a thought,' he went on. 'He has behaved like a villain from beginning to end, and if he is served out now, no one will pity him.'
'It is impossible, George!' exclaimed Mehalah, lifting herself on her knees and holding her knitted fingers against her heart. 'It cannot be, George. It never can be. There is another tie that I cannot break.'
'What tie?'
'I must own it, though it steep me in shame. It was I, George, who blinded him, I in mad fear and anger mingled, not knowing what I did, poured the vitriol over his eyes.'
George De Witt drew back from her.
'Glory! how dreadful!'
'It is dreadful, but it was done without premeditation. He had me in his arms and told me what he had done to you—' she corrected herself—'what he pretended he had done to you, and then he tried to kiss me, and in a moment of loathing and effort to escape I did the deed. I did not know what was in the bottle. I did not know what I laid hold of.'
'You are a dangerous person to deal with, Glory. I should be sorry to provoke you. I do not understand you.'
'I suppose you do not,' she said, with a sob; 'but you must see this, George. I have blinded him and made him a helpless creature dependent on me. I did it, and I must atone for it. I brought him into this condition, and I must expiate what I did by helping him to bear the affliction.'
'He exasperated you.'