 so brutal he looked, and
so strangely coarse had his utterance become.
    »You needn't be afraid. If I had hit you, I'd have gone away and killed
myself; so perhaps it's a pity I didn't. I felt a savage hatred of you, and just
because I wanted you to take my hand and be gentle with me. I suppose you can't
understand that? You haven't gone deep enough into life.«
    His voice choked, and Miriam saw tears start from his eyes.
    »I hope I never may,« she answered gently. »Have done with all that, and
talk to me like yourself, Reuben.«
    »Talk! I've had enough of talking. I want to rest somewhere, and be quiet.«
    »Then come home with me.«
    »Dare you take me?«
    »There's no question of daring. Come with me, if you wish to.«
    They walked to the house almost in silence. It was noon; Mallard was busy in
his studio. Having spoken a word with him, Miriam rejoined her brother in the
sitting-room. He had thrown himself on a couch, and there he lay without
speaking until luncheon-time, when Mallard's entrance aroused him. The artist
could not be cordial, but he exercised a decent hospitality.
    In the afternoon, brother and sister again sat for a long time without
conversing. When Reuben began to speak, it was in a voice softened by the
influences of the last few hours.
    »Miriam, there's one thing you will tell me; you won't refuse to. Is she
still living alone?«
    »Yes.«
    »Then there is still hope for me. I must go back to her, Miriam. No - listen
to me! That is my one and only hope. If I lose that, I lose everything. Down and
down, lower and lower into bestial life - that's my fate, unless she saves me
from it. Won't you help me? Go and speak to her for me, dear sister, you can't
refuse me that. Tell her how helpless I am, and implore her to save me, only out
of pity. I don't care how mean it makes me in your eyes or hers; I have no
self-respect left, nor courage - nothing but a desire to go back to her and ask
her to forgive me.«
    Miriam could scarcely speak for shame and distress
