But he fought
against it with a fierce persistence. He faced Burke with livid,
twitching lips.
"God knows," he said in a passionate whisper, "whether she loves
you. But she will be true to you--as long as you live!"
His words went into silence--a silence so tense that it seemed as
if it must end in furious action--as if a hurtling blow and a
crashing, headlong fall could be the only outcome.
But neither came. After several rigid seconds Burke spoke, his
voice dead level, without a hint of emotion.
"You expect me to believe that, do you?"
Guy made a sharp movement that had in it more of surprise than
protest. His throat worked spasmodically for a moment or two ere
he forced it to utterance.
"Don't you think," he said then, in a half-strangled undertone,
"that it would be a million times easier for me to let you
believe--otherwise?"
"Why?" said Burke briefly.
"Because--" savagely Guy flung back the answer--"I would rather be
murdered for what I've done than despised for what I've failed to
do."
"I see," Burke said. "Then why not let me believe the obvious
without further argument?"
There was contempt in his voice, but it was a bitter self-contempt
in which the man before him had no share. He had entered that room
with murder in his heart. The lust was still there, but he knew
now that it would go unsatisfied.
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