Of course she could not guess--who
could?--your shameful past, the fruit of which is there!" and again she
pointed to the ticket.
"_My_ shameful past!" cried Richard, rising and drawing himself to his
full height. "Who are you, that dare to say so? Do you, then, need one
to rise from the dead to remind you of _your_ past! Look at me, Harry
Trevethick--look at _me_!"
"Richard!" It was but one word; but in the tone which she pronounced it
a thousand memories seemed to mingle. An inexpressible awe pervaded her;
she stood spell-bound, staring at his white hair and withered face.
"Yes, it _is_ Richard," answered the other, mockingly, "though it is
hard to think so. Twenty years of wretchedness have worked the change.
It is you he has to thank for it, you perjured traitress!"
"No, no; as Heaven is my judge, Richard, I tell you No!" She threw
herself on her knees before him; and as she did so her bonnet fell, and
the rippling hair that he had once stroked so tenderly escaped from its
bands; the color came into her cheeks, and the light into her eyes, with
the passionate excitement of her appeal; and for the moment she looked
almost as he had known her in the far-back spring-tide of her youth.
"Fair and false as ever!" cried Richard, bitterly.
"Listen, listen!" pleaded she; "then call me what you will.
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