"I accuse you of nothing. I demand your reasons for the request you have made."
"I want that paper because it is the only proof of my marriage. There were two witnesses: my grandmother, who died three years ago on a steamship bound for California, where her only son is living, and Gerbert Audré, a college student, who is supposed to have been lost last summer in a fishing smack off the coast of Labrador or Greenland."
"I am a witness accessible at any time, should my testimony be required."
"Will you live for ever? Nay,—just when I need your evidence, my ill luck will seal your lips, and drive the screws down in your coffin lid."
"What use do you intend to make of the license? Deal candidly with me."
"I want to hold it, as the most precious thing left in life; to keep it concealed securely, until the time comes when it will serve me, save me, avenge me."
"Why is it necessary to prove your marriage? Who disputes it?"
"Cuthbert Laurance and his father."
"Is it possible! Upon what plea?"
"That he was a minor, was only twenty, irresponsible, and that the license was fraudulent."