He told himself
then, almost in abject terror of some punishment held over him by God
Himself, that Mrs. Dawson's prayers would be answered--if--if he gave
way. "No," he commanded himself, "I shall stand firm. She's not for
me, though she may love me--though she does love me now and would wipe
out the past with her life. A woman as changeable as that would change
again." Then a jealous rage flared up within him, and he laid a
threatening hand on either of her shoulders and glared into her eyes.
"I told you last night I'd never bring up a certain subject again,
but--"
"Then you'd better not," she said, so firmly, so vindictively, that his
tongue was stilled. "I came here out of kindness; don't you
dare--don't you insult me again, Mr. Westerfelt."
"Oh, do forgive me! I--" But she had shaken off his hands and moved
nearer the stairway.
"You made a promise last night," she reminded him, "and I did not dream
you had so little respect for me as to break it so soon."
He moved towards her, his hands outstretched imploringly, but a sound
from below checked him.
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