You will do right by--by him," she said with difficulty.
"Let him establish his claim to the last item of fact," he said with savage hate.
"Luke Claridge knew.

The proofs are but just across the way, no doubt," she answered, almost coldly, so had his words congealed her heart.
Their great moment had passed.

It was as though a cord had snapped that held her to him, and in the recoil she had been thrown far off from him.
Swift as his mind worked, it had not seen his opportunity to win her to his cause, to asphyxiate her high senses, her quixotic justice, by that old flood of eloquence and compelling persuasion of the emotions with which he had swept her to the altar--an altar of sacrifice.

He had not even done what he had left London to do--make sure of her, by an alluring flattery and devotion, no difficult duty with one so beautiful and desirable; though neither love of beauty nor great desire was strong enough in him to divert him from his course for an hour, save by his own initiative.

His mother's letter had changed it all.