So he argued, trying to convince himself, yet knowing all the time that
Arithelli was not one of the women whose emotions are on the surface.
Once before he had seen her cry, and now as then he stood apart. It
was for Vardri to dry her tears.
He glanced at the clock. Of course it was wrong, but he knew by the
shadows that filled the room that it must be time for her to leave if
she was to appear in public again to-night.
He must hurry the interview to a close, for he could not play his part
much longer.
"You ought to be glad to get rid of me, Arithelli. _Vous avez la
chance_! What have I given you but work and grumbles, eh?"
The soft, broken voice answered him:
"I shall feel afraid without you."
"You will have Vardri,--your lover." His tone was brutal as the blow
of a knife. The natural animal jealousy of a man had risen in him
again. When he was between stone walls, she would have the warmth of a
lover's arms; every nerve in his own body would know it, and long for
that which he had himself resigned.
He would have long hours to sit and think the thoughts that drive men
to insanity or self-destruction.
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