"Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses. Think! Had you not better hurry back before Sir John discovers? You are his wife right enough. After all, what can it matter? It was just to make sure. ‘Eh bien, pig. You will find proofs of the bloody deed in his room. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. I won't give him a chance.
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