Cynthia drew nearer still. She touched his breast with her outstretched
finger.
"Mr. West," she said gravely, "I suppose you'll have to leave off being
a blackguard, and take to being an honest man. That's the only solution
of the difficulty that I can think of now that you have got a crippled
wife to look after."
He gripped her wrist, but still he would not look at her.
"This is madness," he said, grinding out the words through clenched
teeth. "You are making a fatal mistake. I am not fit to be your husband.
It is not in my power to give you happiness."
She did not shrink from his hold, though it was almost violent. Her eyes
were shining like stars.
"That," she said, with quaint assurance, "is just another of your lies."
His hand relaxed slowly till her wrist was free.
"Do you know," he said, still with that iron self-suppression, "that
only a few weeks ago I committed forgery?"
"Yes," said Cynthia. "And I know why you did it, too. It wasn't exactly
clever, but it was just dear of you all the same."
The swindler's face quivered suddenly, uncontrollably. He tried to
laugh--the old harsh laugh--but the sound he uttered was akin to
something very different. He leaned forward sharply, and covered his
face with his hands.
And in that moment Cynthia knew that the walls of the citadel had fallen
at last, so that it lay open for her to enter in.
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