"What do you mean?" he demanded. "To set me quit so easily? Oh,
no."
"Never fear. You shall pay me ransom, and heavily."
"Ransom? Parole? Hostages? How do you mean?"
"What ransom you pay me must be out of yourself, out of your own
character. I shall exact it a hundredfold, in shame, in regret, of
you. Do you hold any of that ready to pay your debtor?"
He shook his head. "No, I'll never regret. But you don't know me,
do you? My fortune is adequate."
"So is mine," she rejoined. "I could perhaps buy some of your
property, if it were for sale. But I want more than money of you."
"Who are you?" demanded he suddenly, reverting to the old puzzle
regarding her.
A sadness came upon her averted face. "Only a bit of flotsam on
the human wave. How small we all are, any of us! And there's so
much to be done!"
Half stumbling, he shifted his position, leaning his weight against
the tall pillar of the gallery. He could see her plainly. In the
light from the hall half her features were now thrown into
Rembrandt lighting.
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