She
was very beautiful. And that, I think, was what saved her."
He was fingering his unlighted cigar as he spoke. When he looked
up, he was surprised at the swift change that had come into the
face of St. Pierre's wife. Her cheeks were flaming, and there were
burning fires screened behind the long lashes of her eyes. But her
voice was unchanged. It was without a quiver that betrayed the
emotion which had sent the hot flush into her face.
"Then--you judged her without absolute knowledge of fact? You
judged her--as you hinted in your fever--because she fought so
desperately to save a brother who had gone wrong?"
"I believe she was bad."
The long lashes fell lower, like fringes of velvet closing over
the fires in her eyes. "But you didn't know!"
"Not absolutely," he conceded. "But investigations--"
"Might have shown her to be one of the most wonderful women that
ever lived, M'sieu David. It is not hard to fight for a good
brother--but if he is bad, it may take an angel to do it!"
He stared, thoughts tangling themselves in his head. A slow shame
crept over him. She had cornered him. She had convicted him of
unfairness to the one creature on earth his strength and his
manhood were bound to protect--a woman.
Pages:
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139