I must have the right. Where
would you take him? To that infernal cardboard box-maker. I don't know
what keeps me from hunting him up in his virtuous home and bashing his
head in. I can't bear the thought. Listen to me, Flora! Do you hear
what I am saying to you? You are not so proud that you can't understand
that I as a man have my pride too?"
He saw a tear glide down her white cheek from under each lowered eyelid.
Then, abruptly, she walked out of the cabin. He stood for a moment,
concentrated, reckoning his own strength, interrogating his heart, before
he followed her hastily. Already she had reached the wharf.
At the sound of his pursuing footsteps her strength failed her. Where
could she escape from this? From this new perfidy of life taking upon
itself the form of magnanimity. His very voice was changed. The
sustaining whirlwind had let her down, to stumble on again, weakened by
the fresh stab, bereft of moral support which is wanted in life more than
all the charities of material help. She had never had it. Never. Not
from the Fynes.
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