I had been travelling incessantly for forty hours, so I am afraid I did not present a very pleasant appearance.

No doubt I was travel-stained and dusty enough.
"Who are you ?" demanded Voltaire.
"You know well enough who I am," I said.
"Begone!" he cried; "this is no place for murderers." "No," I said, "it is not." No sooner had Miss Forrest realized who I was, than she rushed to my side.
"Oh, are you safe--are you safe ?" she said huskily.
I looked at her face, and it was deathly pale, while her eyes told me she had passed sleepless nights.
"No, he's not safe," said Voltaire, "and he shall pay for this with his life." "Is it manly," I said to him, "to persecute a lady thus?
Can't you see how she scorns you, hates you, loathes you?
Will you insist on her abiding by a promise which was made in excitement to save an innocent man ?" "Innocent!" he sneered, and I noticed a look of victory still in his glittering eye.

"Innocent! Yes, as innocent as Nero or Robespierre; but you shall not come here to pollute the air by your presence.

Begone! before I forget myself, and send for the police to lock you up.

Ah, I long for vengeance on the man who murdered my dear friend." "Then you will not release Miss Forrest ?" "Never!" "Then I shall make you." "You make me ?" he cried savagely.
Meanwhile Miss Forrest had clung tremblingly to my arm; Miss Forrest's aunt had looked fearfully, first at Voltaire, then at me; while Miss Staggles had been mumbling something about showing me out of doors.
"Yes," I said; "I shall make you." "You cannot," he jeered.