"Miserable woman! you have betrayed me--" In the paroxysm of his rage the feeble old man became almost strong; his grip tightened upon his wife's wrist, and he dragged her violently from her seat.
"Betrayed! And by you!" he cried again, shaking with passion.

"You whom I have loved! This is your gratitude, your sanctified devotion, your cunning pretence at patience! All to hide your love for such a man as that! You hypocrite, you--" By a sudden effort Corona shook off his grasp, and drew herself up to her full height in magnificent anger.
"You shall hear me," she said, in deep commanding tones.

"I have deserved much, but I have not deserved this." "Ha!" he hissed, standing back from her a step, "you can speak now--I have touched you! You have found words.

It was time!" Corona was as white as death, and her black eyes shone like coals of fire.

Her words came slowly, every accent clear and strong with concentrated passion.
"I have not betrayed you.