"Shall he go, Gertrude?" asked Luttrel, without looking at Richard.
"No. Let him stay and explain himself. He has accused you,—let him prove his case."
"I know what he is going to say," said Luttrel. "It will place me in a bad light. Do you still wish to hear it?"
Gertrude drew her hand hastily out of Luttrel's. "Speak, Richard!" she cried, with a passionate gesture.
"I will speak," said Richard. "I've done you a dreadful wrong, Gertrude. How great a wrong, I never knew until I saw you to-day so miserably altered. When I heard that you were to be married, I fancied that it was no wrong, and that my remorse had been wasted. But I understand it now; and he understands it, too. You once told me that you had ceased to love Captain Severn. It wasn't true. You never ceased to love him. You love him at this moment. If he were to get another wound in the next battle, how would you feel? How would you bear it?" And Richard paused for an instant with the force of his interrogation.
"For God's sake," cried Gertrude, "respect the dead!"
"The dead! Is he dead?"
Gertrude covered her face with her hands.
"You beast!" cried Luttrel.
