You will mostly find old women amenable,
if you get at them by way of their dignity. Besides, there was another
lucky circumstance that helped me. The neighbourhood of my cottage has
some attraction for Mrs. Lewson. She didn't say particularly what it
was--and I never asked her to tell me."
"Surely you might have guessed it, without being told," Iris reminded
him. "Mrs. Lewson's faithful heart loves poor Arthur's memory--and
Arthur's grave is not far from your cottage."
"Don't speak of him!"
It was said loudly, peremptorily, passionately. He looked at her with
angry astonishment in his face. "You loved him too!" he said. "Can you
speak of him quietly? The noblest, truest, sweetest man that ever the
Heavens looked on, foully assassinated. And the wretch who murdered him
still living, free--oh, what is God's providence about?--is there no
retribution that will follow him? no just hand that will revenge
Arthur's death?"
As those fierce words escaped him, he was no longer the easy, gentle,
joyous creature whom Iris had known and loved. The furious passions of
the Celtic race glittered savagely in his eyes, and changed to a grey
horrid pallor the healthy colour that was natural to his face.
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