She wanted to wound; and she succeeded.
But Harold had nerves and muscles of steel; and when the call came to them they answered.

Though the pain of death was upon him he did not flinch.

He stood before her like a rock, in all his great manhood; but a rock on whose summit the waves had cast the wealth of their foam, for his face was as white as snow.

She saw and understood; but in the madness upon her she went on trying new places and new ways to wound: 'You thought, I suppose, that this poor, neglected, despised, rejected woman, who wanted so much to marry that she couldn't wait for a man to ask her, would hand herself over to the first chance comer who threw his handkerchief to her; would hand over herself--and her fortune!' 'Oh, Stephen! How can you say such things, think such things ?' The protest broke from him with a groan.

His pain seemed to inflame her still further; to gratify her hate, and to stimulate her mad passion: 'Why did I ever see you at all?
Why did my father treat you as a son; that when you had grown and got strong on his kindness you could thus insult his daughter in the darkest hour of her pain and her shame!' She almost choked with passion.