This waif of barbarism even to talk of Fleda Druse as though he was of the same sphere as herself invited punishment-but to claim her as his wife! It was shameless.

An ugly mood came on him, the force that had made him what he was filled all his senses.

He straightened himself; contempt of the Ishmael showed at his lips.
"I think you lie, Jethro Fawe," he said quietly, and his eyes were hard and piercing.

"Gabriel Druse's daughter is not--never was--any wife of yours.

She never called you husband.