“This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. “My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive. Here I am. " "What proof have you that I am?"—was the return bolt.
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