"You are angry with me—because I am alive?" he said, recoiling as though she had struck him.
"I have no right to be angry," she said coldly. "On the contrary, I congratulate you."
"You congratulate me!" he repeated slowly. "But how about yourself? I am afraid my—resurrection—has put you in an awkward position."
She made no reply.
"Am I to blame for that—?" he began, but she turned upon him swiftly.
"You mean that it is my own fault that you are my husband?" she interrupted, her blue eyes flashing like steel. "If you choose to blame me for that, I have not a word to say in my own defense."
"If I dared, I would bless you for it," he said, in a low voice, "although you, perhaps, were waiting impatiently for news of my death, when I interrupted you?"
Remembering how she had been employed, Prue had no answer ready. She was silent a minute, and then abruptly blurted out, "How did you escape, and why did you come here? Good Heaven, if they should follow you and find you here! Oh, how could you betray me? Sure, I am the most unfortunate woman in the world—!"
"Listen to me; there is nothing for you to be alarmed about," he cried, hurriedly coming to her and seizing her hand. "I am free—reprieved—pardoned. No one will follow me here; no one—" He stopped suddenly, and looked fixedly at her. "What has happened?" he asked, in a tone of deep concern. "You are so pale—your eyes are red and swollen—you have been weeping?"
"I thought you were dead!" she said half-resentfully.