right her wrongs?"

Her voice had now a piercing indignation and force. "Yes, Philip
d'Avranche, it is as I say, justice will come to me. The world turned
against me because of you; I have been shamed and disgraced. For years
I have suffered in silence. But I have waited without fear for the end.
God is with me. He is stronger than fortune or fate. He has brought you
to Jersey once more, to right my wrongs, mine and my child's."

She saw his eyes flash to the little curtained bed. They both stood
silent and still. He could hear the child breathing. His blood
quickened. An impulse seized him. He took a step towards the bed, as
though to draw the curtain, but she quickly moved between.

"Never," she said in a low stern tone; "no touch of yours for my
Guilbert--for my son! Every minute of his life has been mine. He is
mine--all mine--and so he shall remain. You who gambled with the name,
the fame, the very soul of your wife, you shall not have one breath of
her child's life."

It was as if the outward action of life was suspended in them for a
moment, and then came the battle of two strong spirits: the struggle of
fretful and indulged egotism, the impulse of a vigorous temperament,
against a deep moral force, a high purity of mind and conscience, and the
invincible love of the mother for the child. Time, bitterness, and power
had hardened Philip's mind, and his long-restrained emotions, breaking
loose now, made him a passionate and wilful figure. His force lay in the
very unruliness of his spirit, hers in the perfect command of her moods
and emotions. Well equipped by the thoughts and sufferings of five long
years, her spirit was trained to meet this onset with fiery wisdom. They