"Would you like to know how I feel?
I feel _as if a slug had crawled over me_!" His face contracts, his eyes darken with a raging pain.

He _throws_ my hands--the hands a moment ago so jealously clasped--away from him.
"Thank you!" he says, after a pause, in a stiff voice of constraint.

"I am satisfied!" "And a very good thing too!" say I, sturdily, still at boiling-point, and diminishing with quick steps the small space still intervening between me and the road.
"Stay!" he says, overtaking me once again, as I reach it, and laying his hand in detention on my arm.

"One word more! I should be sorry to part from you--such friends as we have been"-- (with a sneer)--"without _one_ good wish.

Lady Tempest, I hope"-- (smiling with malevolent irony)--"that your fidelity will be rewarded as it deserves." "I have no doubt of it!" reply I, steadily; but even as I speak, a sharp jealous pain runs through my heart.