Rust’s calm sneer disappeared in an instant, and he seemed absolutely to wither before the keen flashing eye which was fixed steadfastly on his.
‘She lived with you two years; and then she became—shall I tell you what?’
Rust’s lips moved, but no sound came from them. Grosket bent his lips to his ear, and whispered in it. Rust neither moved nor spoke. He seemed paralyzed.
‘But she died,’ continued Grosket, ‘and she left a child—a daughter; mine was a daughter too.’
Rust started from a state of actual torpor; every energy, every faculty, every feeling leaping into life.
‘That daughter is now alive,’ continued Grosket, speaking slowly, that every word might tell with tenfold force. ‘That daughter now is, what you drove my child to be, a harlot.’
‘It’s false as hell!’ shouted Rust, in a tone that made the room ring. ‘It’s false!’
‘It’s true. I can prove it; prove it, clear as the noon-day,’ returned Grosket, with a loud, exulting laugh.
‘Oh! Enoch! oh, Enoch!’ said Rust, in a broken, supplicating tone, ‘tell me that it’s false, and I’ll bless you! Crush me, blight me, do what you will, only tell me that my own loved child is pure from spot or stain! Tell me so, I beseech you; I, Michael Rust, who never begged a boon before—I beseech you.’
He fell on his knees in front of Grosket, and clasping his hands together, raised them toward him.