The memory of Emmy's forget-me-not blue eyes turning into sapphires as she sang the villain's praises smote him.

He clenched his fists and put to incoherent use his limited vocabulary of anathema.

Then fearing, in his excited state, to meet Zora, lest he should betray the miserable secret, he stuffed the newspaper into his pocket, and crept out of the house.
Before his own fire he puzzled over the problem.

Something must be done.
But what?
Hale Mordaunt Prince from his bride's arms and bring him penitent to Nunsmere?
What would be the good of that, seeing that polygamy is not openly sanctioned by Western civilization?
Proceed to Naples and chastise him?
That were better.

The monster deserved it.