t in shielding the worthless thing--twice detested as her cloak
of slavery coming from him! She comprehended no more. She was a house of
nerves crowding in against her soul like fiery thorns, and had no space
within her torture for a sensation of gratitude or suspicion; but feeling
herself hurried along at lightning speed to some dreadful shock, her
witless imagination apprehended it in his voice: not what he might say,
only the sound. She feared to hear him speak, as the shrinking ear fears
a thunder at the cavity; yet suspense was worse than the downward-driving
silence.

The pang struck her when he uttered some words about Mrs. Culling, and
protection, and Roland.

She thanked him.

So have common executioners been thanked by queenly ladies baring their
necks to the axe.

He called up the pain he suffered to vindicate him; and it was really an
agony of a man torn to pieces.

'I have done the best.'

This dogged and stupid piece of speech was pitiable to hear from Nevil
Beauchamp.

'You think so?' said she; and her glass-like voice rang a tremour in its
mildness that swelled through him on the plain submissive note, which was
more assent than question.

'I am sure of it. I believe it. I see it. At least I hope so.'

'We are chiefly led by hope,' said Renee.

'At least, if not!' Beauchamp cried. 'And it's not too late. I have no
right--I do what I can. I am at your mercy. Judge me later. If I am ever
to know what happiness is, it will be with you. It's not too late either
way. There is Roland--my brother as much as if you were my wife!'

He begged her to let him have Roland's exact address.

She named the regiment, the corps d'armee, the postal town, and the
department.

'Roland will come at a signal,' he pursued; 'we are not bound to consult
others.'

Renee formed the French word of 'we' on her tongue.

He talked of Roland and Roland, his affection for him as a brother and as
a friend, and Roland's love of them both.

'It is true,' said Renee.

'We owe him this; he represents your father.'

'All that you say is true, my friend.'

'Thus, you have come on a visit to madame, your old friend here--oh! your
hand. What have I done?'

Renee motioned her hand as if it were free to be taken, and smiled
faintly to make light of it, but did not give it.

'If you had been widowed!' he broke down to the lover again.

'That man is attached to the remnant of his life: I could not wish him
dispossessed o