As Rokoff closed his appeal, awaiting the reply he invited, the
look of surprise upon Jane Clayton's face turned to one of disgust.
She fairly shuddered in the fellow's face.
"I would not have been surprised, M. Rokoff," she said, "had you
attempted to force me to submit to your evil desires, but that you
should be so fatuous as to believe that I, wife of John Clayton,
would come to you willingly, even to save my life, I should never
have imagined. I have known you for a scoundrel, M. Rokoff; but
until now I had not taken you for a fool."
Rokoff's eyes narrowed, and the red of mortification flushed out
the pallor of his face. He took a step toward the girl, threateningly.
"We shall see who is the fool at last," he hissed, "when I have
broken you to my will and your plebeian Yankee stubbornness has
cost you all that you hold dear--even the life of your baby--for,
by the bones of St. Peter, I'll forego all that I had planned
for the brat and cut its heart out before your very eyes. You'll
learn what it means to insult Nikolas Rokoff."
Jane Clayton turned wearily away.
"What is the use," she said, "of expatiating upon the depths to
which your vengeful nature can sink? You cannot move me either by
threats or deeds. My baby cannot judge yet for himself, but I, his
mother, can foresee that should it have been given him to survive
to man's estate he would willingly sacrifice his life for the honour
of his mother.
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