“Man and wife we never shall be. I’d sooner far, and prouder far, be my Daniel’s widow than wife of any man. No call to stare. Stare into your own heart, not into my face. I’ll never marry anybody. Let that content you. You’ve done your work; now go your way.”
“You’d drop me so? By God! you make my fingers itch! D’you know what lies between love and hate? A razor-edge. Don’t scorn me so cold and cruel. Don’t turn away from the worship of a man whose very life be built upon your nod. I can’t stand that. ’Tis fatal. My days are nought to me without you. They are narrowed to a word; you, you, you! Think what I can give you if you’ve no liking for myself. I’ve got heaps of money—a small fortune. Hundreds of pounds—all for you. Never another stroke of work. Your own servant you shall have; and your own slave, too. I’ll be that. Let me show you what love for a woman is—what love for a woman can do. Be content to share life with me. Don’t drive me mad by saying ‘no’ again. Don’t turn my love into gall. For ’twill be poison, and that poison will mean death.”
“I must face all that you can threaten,” she said. “I’ve spoken. I’ll marry no man. ’Tis enough to live alone with the blessing of my Dan’s good name.”
“That rests with me!” he answered. “Don’t fool yourself to think everything’s going as you please. If you will make me show my teeth, ’tis your fault, not mine. I’m human. I’ve fought and toiled and sweated for you, and only you. I’ve done deeper things than ever a man did for love of you. Grey’s come into my hair for love of you. And now—? No, by God! the time’s ripe for payment. There’s only two living souls on earth know that Daniel Sweetland’s innocent of murder, and them two must be man and wife, or that man’s memory shall stink of blood for evermore! That’s love! You stare, but I’ve spoken. You refuse me, but in so doing you leave your husband’s memory foul. Your testimony is nothing without mine. ’Tis an easy invention for a pious wife; but when they come to me, I shake my head and say ‘I fear the wish was father to the thought, for Parkinson said no such thing.’ Tell them! I’d rather die than tell them. I’ll cut my own throat rather than clear him. That’s love on the razor-edge. And a mind on a razor-edge too! I’m at a pass now when life or death be bubbles. You’ve made me desperate. You don’t know—you can’t guess—a girl like you with ice for a heart—what a man’s raging fires may be. Speak—don’t look at me with them steady, watch-fire eyes, or I’ll strangle you!”
She had never seen any man driven into a desperation that came so near actual madness. She was alive to her own danger, and yet, knowing a thing hidden from him, could spare a moment of thankfulness at her own prescience in the past. For Minnie had never trusted Titus Sim. Even before the prospect of going with him into the presence of death, she had feared his honesty. Because she knew him to be a liar, and believed him capable of any crime.
“Leave me now,” she said steadily, with her eyes upon his face. “This be no time for more speech between us. You have declared that my dead husband’s innocence hangs upon your speech. To prove him honest is all the world’s got left for me to do. And I will do it. At any cost—even to marriage with you I’ll do it. If ’tis only by marrying you that Daniel’s name can be cleared, then I’ll marry you, Titus Sim.”
He fell on his knees and made wild, incoherent sounds. He seized her hands and covered them with kisses. He uttered inarticulate cries and praised God. She endured it with difficulty, and continually implored him to depart from her. At last he rose, restrained himself, and spoke more calmly.
“Why did you make me say those cruel things? Why did you rouse the devil in me like that? Right well you know I never meant them. ’Twas only the very madness of disappointed love made me think of such vile things. Forget them, Minnie! Forget them and forgive them. I only want your happiness. Marry me and leave the rest to me. You’ll never be sorry. I’ve got love enough for both of us. Wait and see. You’ll turn to me yet, and trust me, and be sorry for me. Then, please God, you’ll come to love me a little.”
“Go, now,” she said. “You’ve got my answer.”
“And sweeter words never fell on a sad man’s ear, my blessed wife to be! We’ll wait till the dead is buried. We promised him to say nothing until then. And afterwards all people shall know that your Daniel was innocent.”