My obstinacy--women are such mules!--declined to give way, even when my conscience told me that he was right.
He sprang to his feet, in the same fever of excitement which I remembered so well, when I had irritated him at Browndown into telling me who he really was.
"Would you have said, No ?" he reiterated, stooping over me, flushed and heated, as he had stooped on that first occasion, when he had whispered his name in my ear.

"Would you ?" he repeated, louder and louder--"would you ?" At the third reiteration of the words, the frightful contortion that I knew so well, seized on his face.

The wrench to the right twisted his body.

He dropped at my feet.

Good God! who could have declared that he was wrong, with such an argument in his favor as I saw at that moment?
Who would not have said that any disfigurement would be welcome as a refuge from this?
The servant ran in, and helped me to move the furniture to a safe distance from him, "There won't be much more of it, ma'am," said the man, noticing my agitation, and trying to compose me.