He was leaving the room, but again she caught him, clinging to him resolutely, and beseeching him to heed her word.
This angered him. His face was pale, his eyes flashed quickly and, gripping her by the right hand, he raised his fist to strike her.
In a flash, however, Carlier, who stood with his hat on ready to depart, sprang in from behind, and gripped the brute’s arm, shouting:
“No, you shall not strike her—not while I am present! Come away, you infernal coward!”
Jean gave vent to a hysterical shriek, and shook herself free, but ere she could realise what had actually happened, the two men, without further word, had left the room, her husband slamming the door after him with a fierce imprecation.
Then she stood alone, white-faced, terrified, heart-broken.
Ralph Ansell had at last shown himself in his true colours—a thief, a bully, a coward, and a blackguard.
And yet she had loved him until that hour—loved him with all the strength of her being—loved him as she had loved no other man in her whole life.
She had lived only for him, and she would have willingly died for him had he not raised his hand against her.
But she stood in the centre of that meagre little room, staring straight before her, her countenance white to the lips, her big, dark eyes fixed like one in a dream.