"How dare you?" she gasped through her set lips, glaring at him with
fierce eyes.

"How dare _you?_" he answered. "Did I marry you for this? I have given
you everything, my name, the wealth my old aunt left to me; you, you the
peasant's child, the evil woman whom I tried to lift up because I loved
you from the first."

"Then you were a fool for your pains, for such as I can't be lifted up."

"And you," he went on, unheeding, "go back to your mire and the herd of
your fellow-swine. You ask me how I dare. Go on with these ways, and I
tell you I'll dare a good deal more before I've done. I'll be rid of you
if I must break your neck and hang for it."

"You can't be rid of me. I'm your lawful wife, and you can prove nothing
against me since I married. Do you think I want to be such a one as that
mother of yours, to have children and mope myself to the grave----"

"You'd best leave my mother out of it, or by the devil that made you
I'll send you after her. Keep her name off your vile lips."

"Why should I? What good did she ever do you? She pretended to be such
a saint, but she hated you, and small wonder, seeing what you were. Why
she even died to be rid of you. Oh, I know all about it, and you told me
as much yourself. If my child is ever born I hope for your sake it will
be such another as you are, or as I am. You can take your choice," and
with a glare of hate she rushed from the room.

On a table near the fireplace stood spirits. The maddened husband went