The apology was more unendurable than the insult. The most degraded man

living would have felt humiliated by it.

"If my honour was not in your hands," I said, "I would leave you this

instant, and never see you again. You have spoken of what I have done.

What have I done?"

"What have you done! YOU ask that question of ME?"

"I ask it."

"I have kept your infamy a secret," she answered. "And I have suffered

the consequences of concealing it. Have I no claim to be spared the

insult of your asking me what you have done? Is ALL sense of gratitude

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dead in you? You were once a gentleman. You were once dear to my mother,

and dearer still to me----"

Her voice failed her. She dropped into a chair, and turned her back on

me, and covered her face with her hands.

I waited a little before I trusted myself to say any more. In that

moment of silence, I hardly know which I felt most keenly--the sting

which her contempt had planted in me, or the proud resolution which shut

me out from all community with her distress.

"If you will not speak first," I said, "I must. I have come here with

something serious to say to you. Will you do me the common justice of

listening while I say it?"

She neither moved, nor answered. I made no second appeal to her; I

never advanced an inch nearer to her chair. With a pride which was as

obstinate as her pride, I told her of my discovery at the Shivering

Sand, and of all that had led to it. The narrative, of necessity,

occupied some little time. From beginning to end, she never looked round

at me, and she never uttered a word.

I kept my temper. My whole future depended, in all probability, on my

not losing possession of myself at that moment. The time had come to

put Mr. Bruff's theory to the test. In the breathless interest of trying

that experiment, I moved round so as to place myself in front of her.

"I have a question to ask you," I said. "It obliges me to refer again to

a painful subject. Did Rosanna Spearman show you the nightgown. Yes, or

No?"

She started to her feet; and walked close up to me of her own accord.

Her eyes looked me searchingly in the face, as if to read something

there which they had never read yet.

"Are you mad?" she asked.

I still restrained myself. I said quietly, "Rachel, will you answer my

question?"

She went on, without heeding me.

"Have you some object to gain which I don't understand? Some mean fear

about the future, in which I am concerned? They say your father's death

has made you a rich man. Have you come here to compensate me for the

loss of my Diamond? And have you heart enough left to feel ashamed of

your errand? Is THAT the secret of your pretence of innocence, and your

story about Rosanna Spearman? Is there a motive of shame at the bottom

of all the falsehood, this time?"




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