“She was on her knees to me,” he said, the veins standing out on his temples. “On her knees to you? Begging? For what? Forgiveness?” “No! She was like all of her kind. She was innocent! Ha, ha!” Yvonne arose. She stood over him like an accusing angel. “And to this day, James Brood, to this very hour, you are not certain that you did right in casting her off!” “Oh, I say!” He sprang to his feet. “You have never really convinced yourself that she was untrue to you, in spite of all that you said and did at the time.” “You are going too far! I------” “All these years you have been trying to close your ears to the voice of that wretched woman, and all these years you have been wondering--wondering--wondering! You have been mortally afraid, my husband.” “I tell you, I was certain--I was sure of------” “Then why do you still love her?” He stared at her open-mouthed, speechless. “Why do you still love her?” “Are you mad?” he gasped. “Good God, woman, how can you ask that question of me, knowing that I love you with all my heart and soul? How------” “With all your heart, yes! But with your soul? No! That other woman has your soul. I have heard your soul speak, and it speaks of her--yes, to her!” “In God's name, what------” “Night after night, in your sleep, James Brood, you have cried out to 'Matilde.' You have sobbed out your love for her, as you have been doing for twenty years or more. In your sleep your soul has been with her. With me at your side, you have cried on 'Matilde'! You have passed your hand over my face and murmured 'Matilde'! Not once have you uttered the word 'Yvonne'! And now you come to me and say: 'We will come straight to the point'! Well, now you may come straight to the point. But do not forget, in blaming me, that you love another woman!” He was petrified. Not a drop of blood remained in his face. “Is this true, this that you are telling me?” he cried, dazed and shaken. “You need not ask. Call upon your dreams for the answer, if you must have one.” “It is some horrible, ghastly delusion. It cannot be true. Her name has not passed my lips in twenty years. It is not mentioned in my presence. I have not uttered that woman's name------” “Then how should I know her name? Her own son does not know it, I firmly believe. No one appears to know it except the man who says he despises it.” “Dreams! Dreams!” he cried scornfully. “Shall I be held responsible for the unthinkable things that happen in dreams?” “No,” she replied significantly; “you should not be held accountable. She must be held accountable. You drove out her body, James, but not her spirit. It stands beside you every instant of the day and night. By day you do not see her; by night--ah, you tremble! Well, she is dead, they say. If she were still alive I myself might tremble, and with cause.”