Silverthorn was numb from sleeping in a cramped posture and without covering; but a deeper chill shook him at these words. He tried to get up, but felt too weak, and had to abandon it. He shivered heavily. Then he put his hand carefully into the breast of his coat, and after a moment drew out his pocket-book.
“Here it is,” said he, very quietly. “I came home intending to give you back your money, but you were not here.”
“You expect me to believe that?” retorted Vibbard, scornfully, “when I know that you went from here after receiving the check, and—ah! I couldn’t have believed it, if I hadn’t heard—”
“You overheard us, then? You came, though I warned you not to? And what did you hear?” Silverthorn’s lips certainly curled with contempt now.
Vibbard answered: “I heard you pleading with Ida to promise herself to you.”
“That’s a lie,” said Silverthorn, calmly.
“Didn’t you say to her, ‘You have never yet fully engaged yourself to me?’ Weren’t you pleading?”
“Yes. I was begging that she would forget all the words of love I had ever spoken, and listen to you when you should come to tell her your story.”
Vibbard’s head bowed itself in humiliation and wonder. He came forward two or three steps, and sank into a chair.
“Is this possible?” he inquired, at last.