Give up being proud of me, too; there 's nothing left of me to be proud of! A year ago I was a mighty fine fellow; but do you know what has become of me now?
I have gone to the devil!" There was something in the ring of Roderick's voice, as he uttered these words, which sent them home with convincing force.

He was not talking for effect, or the mere sensuous pleasure of extravagant and paradoxical utterance, as had often enough been the case ere this; he was not even talking viciously or ill-humoredly.

He was talking passionately, desperately, and from an irresistible need to throw off the oppressive burden of his mother's confidence.

His cruel eloquence brought the poor lady to her feet, and she stood there with clasped hands, petrified and voiceless.

Mary Garland quickly left her place, came straight to Roderick, and laid her hand on his arm, looking at him with all her tormented heart in her eyes.