“Oh, I know what you think,” he continued. “I can’t blame you. But what do you know about my 319 life? What do you know about what I’ve had to fight against? All my life there has been some devil in me, strangling all the good. There has been nobody to give me a helping hand—none to hold me back. I was a dog with a bad name—good enough for hanging, and nothing else.”
He was holding the gate, and perforce she had to hear him out.
“What do I care about that?” she cried, in a fierce gust of passion. “I see you are cur and coward! You lied to me. You didn’t keep faith and free Jack Flatray. That is enough.”
She was the one person in the world who had power to wound him. Nor did it hurt the less that it was the truth. He drew back as if the lash of a whip had swept across his face.
“No man alive can say that to me and live!” he told her. “Cur I may be; but you’re my wife, ’Lissie MacQueen. Don’t forget that.”
“Go! Go!” she choked. “I hope to God I’ll never see your face again!”
She flew along the grass-bordered walk, whipped open the front door, and disappeared within. She turned the key in the lock, and stood trembling in the darkness. She half expected him to follow, to attempt to regain possession of her.
But the creak of his quick step on the porch did not come. Only her hammering heart stirred in the black silence. She drew a long breath of relief, and sank down on the stairs. It was over at last, 320 the horrible nightmare through which she had been living.
Gradually she fought down her fears and took hold of herself. She must find her father and relieve his anxiety. Quietly she opened the door of the hall into the living room.
A man sat at the table, with his back to her, in an attitude of utter dejection. He was leaning forward, with his head buried in his arms. It was her father. She stepped forward, and put her hands on his bowed shoulders.