“Do you confess it to me, now? Do you say to me that you killed Samuel Appleby?”
There was but a moment’s pause, and then Maida said, in a low tone: “Yes—I confess it to you, Mr. Keefe.”
“Then, do you see what I mean when I say I will produce the—murderer? Do you see that I mean to save you from the consequences of your own rash act—and prove you, to the world at large, innocent?”
Keefe looked straight into Maida’s eyes, and her own fell in confusion.
“Can you do it?” she asked, tremulously.
“When I say I will do a thing, I’ve already proved to my own satisfaction that I can do it. But, I’ll do it only at my own price. The price being you—you dear, delicious thing! Oh, Maida, you’ve no idea what it means to be loved as I love you! I’ll make you happy, my darling! I’ll make you forget all this horrible episode; I’ll give you a fairyland life. You shall be happier than you ever dreamed of.”
“But—Jeffrey—oh, I can’t.”
“Then—Miss Wheeler, you must take the consequences—all the consequences. Can you do that?”
“No,” Maida said, after an interval of silence. “I can’t. I am forced to accept your offer, Mr. Keefe——”
“You may not accept it with that address.”