“It is hardly worth while discussing that question. It was an unlucky hour that you ever met with my husband. Most of all fatal for me. You have made him acquainted with too much already, and he will never rest till he gets all from you.”
“He’ll get no more from me,” exclaimed Rawton; “I wish my tongue had been cut out before I told him what I have; but, Lord bless us, I had no idea I was doing anything wrong—had no notion that it would injure anyone, still less you.”
“Ah, you don’t know all, or you would not talk like that. Listen. This man—this Docter Bourne, my husband—hates me—he wants to be rid of me at any cost. The lady who was with him when you were last here is a rich widow, to whom he is paying attention. I am the one person too many in this house, and at any cost or sacrifice I must be removed. He has tried poison, but as yet has not succeeded.”
“Poison!” exclaimed Rawton, turning suddenly pale. “Do not tell me that.”
“It is a fact; I know it but too well. Every day, every hour I am in fear of my life. Oh, the miserable life I have led!”
She paused suddenly, and her eyes were suffused with tears.
Bill Rawton was touched. He could hardly believe his senses.
“The wretch!” he ejaculated—“the abominable, merciless wretch. If I thought that I’d——”
“Hush, silence! Don’t be rash. It was wrong of me to say thus much, but it was done without due consideration. It is enough to know that he wants to get rid of me either by fair means or foul. I have good reason to know this. He has been placed in his present position through me, or, rather, through one who was my protector.”
The gipsy gave a prolonged “oh!” The real state of affairs began to dawn upon him.