“You love him?—you’re killing him.”
“He couldn’t have got Miss Warrener,—not with a brother like you. Do you hear? ’Tisn’t me that keeps him from her; it’s you, you, you.”
“Me?” shouted Olver.
“You, did you never think of that before? It doesn’t matter whether my baby is your baby or Peter Gorwyn’s baby. It’s you that spoil his life for him, you and your mother, you mischievous dolt, and your dirty blood in him. He’s tainted, and he knows it. ’Tisn’t me. I came long after; I’m just an extra. ’Tis you and your mother destroyed him, from the day he was born.”
She clasped her hands suddenly to her side and fell back on to her chair.
“You’ve done for me,” she groaned.
The door opened and Lovel stood upon the threshold. Olver ran to him, touching him all over with his hands, reaching up to pass his hands even over his brother’s head.
“Look at her, Nicco; she’s tricked you, the brat isn’t mine, it’s Peter Gorwyn’s, and she says ’tis I that kept you from Miss Warrener. Why don’t you kill her, Nicco? and I’ll go right away if it’s true; I love you better than she does; you shall have Miss Warrener.”
“What’s all this?” said Lovel. He put Olver’s passionate fumbling hands aside, and went over to Daisy. “You’re ill,” he said in a practical voice; “What is it? has Olver hurt you?”
“You heard what he said,” she replied, looking up at him with terrified and pain-racked eyes.