In vain Wood protested his innocence. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. His eyes never left her face. I certainly didn’t mean to kiss you. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. By this time, the door was unlocked, and drawing his sword, Quilt entered the cell. The joke of it is that he’s married to her now, and cuts me dead. With an open hand, he slapped her face. He was now at the entrance of the chapel, and striking the door over which he had previously climbed a violent blow with the bar, it flew open. I hope I may never come near her. Cast off this weakness. IX.
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