out, I have hated and despised
you. You have no courage, no spirit; there is nothing even to be afraid
of in you. You would be brutal if you dared, but you do not dare. You
can be spiteful and treacherous and villainous, that is all. And I hate
you for all that you are and all that you do not dare to be!"

Alan ground his teeth, in a moment's raging desire to bring the woman to
her senses by some actual exertion of his physical strength. But the
impulse of anger lasted only for a moment. He knew that half her rage
was simulated--that she was lashing herself up in preparation for some
tremendous crisis, and all that he could do was to wait for it in
silence. She had risen to her feet as she spoke. He rose too and leaned
against the trunk of a tree, while she stormed and raved like a madwoman
for some minutes in front of him.

"Now," she said at last, "you know what I think of you, how I hate you,
how I despise you. But it is not enough. My father shot down twenty of
his enemies in the siege of Paris. Do you think that his daughter is a
coward, to be trampled on by a brutal, cold-blooded Englishman? No!
Because I hate you, and because you have tried to kill the man I love,
and because you are too mean and vile to live--I will kill _you_!"

Her hand darted to the bosom of her dress. Before Alan could stop
her--almost before he realized what she was doing--she had drawn out a
little pistol, cocked it, and pulled the trigger. But her hurry at the
last moment spoiled her aim. Alan felt a sting in the left arm, and knew
that she had so far succeeded in her intentions; but with his right hand
he was able to snatch the pistol from her, and to fling it far into the
brushwood.

Then came the reaction. She burst into loud, screaming sobs and tears,
and flung herself on the ground, where she writhed for a time like one
in convulsions. Alan seated himself, feeling somewhat sick and faint,
and waited for the storm to spend itself. Some time elapsed before she
became calm; but at last she raised herself panting from the ground and
looked half timorously at her husband. His coolness and quietness often
enraged, but now and then it frightened her.

"If you have not another pistol with you," said Alan, "you cannot kill
me just now. Perhaps you have done enough to satisfy yourself for the
moment. What do you propose to do next?"

"What do _you_ mean to do?" she asked sullenly. "Of course, you can
follow me and give me up to the poli