She noticed the change, and it frightened her. Wasvhe angry? Was he going to be angry? But how absurd! He was only distressed at her distress.
“What then?” he repeated, more gently.
She looked up into his eyes for an instant. “It was a horrible letter” she whispered, as she pressed her clasped hands against him.
His grasp tightened on her wrists, and again the stern look crossed his face. “Horrible? What do you mean?”
She had never seen him angry—but she felt suddenly that, to the guilty creature, his anger would be terrible. He would crush Wyant—she must be careful how she spoke.
“I didn’t mean that—only painful.…”
“Where is the letter? Let me see it.”
“Oh, no ” she exclaimed, shrinking away.
“Justine, what has happened? What ails you?”
On a blind impulse she had backed toward the hearth, propping her arms against the mantel-piece while she stole a secret glance at the embers. Nothing remained of it—no, nothing.
But suppose it was against herself that his anger turned? The idea was preposterous, yet she trembled at it. It was clear that she must say something at once—must somehow account for her agitation. But the sense that she was unnerved—no longer in control
of her face, her voice—made her feel that she would
[ 487 ]
