Page:The Inheritors, An Extravagant Story.djvu/208

 jerks through a sluice the débris of once ordered fields.

"You are," I said, "you are—you—you—dragging an ancient name through the dust—you . . ."

I forget what I said. But I remember, "dragging an ancient name." It struck me, at the time, by its forlornness, as part of an appeal to her. It was so pathetically tiny a motive, so out of tone, that it stuck in my mind. I only remember the upshot of my speech; that, unless she swore—oh, yes, swore—to have done with de Mersch, I would denounce her to my aunt at that very moment and in that very house.

And she said that it was impossible.