"Do not call me by that name--I am nothing to you--I never could, under any possible phase of circumstances, be any nearer to you than I am at this moment. From first to last I have been acting a part. When I saw you at that shooting match, on the Riffel, I said to myself 'Here is a man, who in any encounter with my husband, must be fatal.' My husband killed the only man I ever loved, in a duel, without witnesses--a duel forced upon him by insane and causeless jealousy. Whether that meeting was fair or unfair in its actual details, I cannot tell; but at the best it was more like a murder than a duel. When, through Miss Bridgeman's acuteness, I came to understand what that meeting had been, I made up my mind to avenge Mr. Hamleigh's death. For a long time my brain was under a cloud--I could think of nothing, plan nothing. Then came clearer thoughts, and then I met you; and the scheme of my revenge flashed upon me like a suggestion direct from Satan. I knew my husband's jealous temper, and how easy it would be to fire a train _there_, and I made my plans with that view. You lent yourself very easily to my scheme." "Lent myself!" cried the Baron, indignantly; and then with a savage oath he said: "I loved you, Mrs. Tregonell, and you made me believe that you loved me." "I let you make fine speeches, and I pretended to be pleased at them," answered Christabel, with supreme scorn. "I think that was all." "No, madam, it was not all. You fooled me to the top of my bent. What, those lovely looks, those lowered accents--all meant nothing? It was all a delusion--an acted lie? You never cared for me?" "No," answered Christabel. "My heart was buried with the dead. I never loved but one man, and he was murdered, as I believed--and I made up my mind to avenge his murder. 'Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed.' That sentence was in my mind always, when I thought of Leonard Tregonell. I meant you to be the executioner. And now--now--God knows how the light has come--but the God I worshipped when I was a happy sinless girl, has called me out of the deep pit of sin--called me to remorse and atonement. You must not fight this duel. You must save me from this horrible crime that I planned--save me and yourself from blood-guiltiness. You must not meet Leonard at Trebarwith." "And stamp myself as a cur, to oblige you: after having lent myself so simply to your scheme of vengeance, lend myself as complacently to your repentance. No, Mrs. Tregonell, that is too much to ask. I will be your bravo, if you like, since I took the part unconsciously--but I will not brand myself with the charge of cowardice--even for you." "You fought a duel in South America, and killed your adversary. Mr. FitzJesse told me so. Everybody knows that you are a dead shot. Who can call you a coward for refusing to shoot the man whose roof has sheltered you--who never injured you--against whom you can have no ill-will."