It reminded him of his own miserable schemings and follies, and how he had rejected that dear appeal, and ever since slipped and slipped out of reach of any love but the love of himself.

It reminded him of the day when he heard that the one prop of his manhood had gone from him; and of how, even then, his sorrow was tempered by the thought that he was a free man to follow his own paths without question or reproof.

Now, suddenly, the same hands seemed for a moment to lie on his shoulders, the same eyes to look into his, the same voice to fall on his ear, and he staggered under the illusion.
For a moment at least hope was within his reach.

But the sound of a man's voice in the passage without recalled him, with a shiver, to himself.
It was Ratman's voice--the voice of the man to whom he owed money, who held the secret of his crime, who claimed his villainy and--who could say ?--might even have to be pacified with a human sacrifice.
He shook her off rudely and said in dry, hard tones-- "Rosalind, I am disappointed in you.

I will not discuss the matter with you.