Mrs. Bartlett—But you could have prevented it with a word, couldn’t you, Isaiah? That heathen savage lives in the fear of you. He’d not have done it if——
Bartlett—[Gloomily.] That’s woman’s talk. There be three o’ us can swear in any court I spoke no word.
Mrs. Bartlett—What are courts? Can you swear it to yourself? You can’t, and it’s that’s drivin’ you mad, Isaiah. Oh, I’d never have believed it of you for all you said in sleep, if it wasn’t for the way you looked and acted out of sleep. I watched you that first week, Isaiah, till the fear of it had me down sick. I had to watch you, you was so strange and fearful to me. At first I kept sayin’, ’twas only you wasn’t rid o’ the thirst and the sun yet. But then, all to once, God gave me sight, and I saw ’twas guilt written on your face, on the queer stricken way you acted, and guilt in your eyes. [She stares into them.] I see it now, as I always see it when you look at me. [She covers her face with her hands with a sob.]
Bartlett—[His face haggard and drawn—hopelessly, as if he were too beaten to oppose her further—in a hoarse whisper.] What would ye have me do, Sarah?
Mrs. Bartlett—[Taking her hands from her face—her eyes lighting up with religious fervor.] Confess your sin, Isaiah! Confess to God and men, and make your peace and take your punishment. Forget that gold that’s cursed and the voyage you be settin’ out on, and make your peace. [Passionately.] I ask you to do this for my sake and the children’s, and your own most of all! I’ll get down on my knees, Isaiah, and pray you to do it, as I’ve prayed to God to send you his grace! Confess and wash your soul of the stain o’ blood that’s on it. I ask you that, Isaiah—and God asks you—to make your peace with Him.
Bartlett—[His face tortured by the inward struggle—as if the word strangled him.] Confess and let someone steal the gold! [This thought destroys her influence over him in a second. His obsession regains possession of him instantly, filling him with rebellious strength. He laughs harshly.] Ye’d make an old woman o’ me, would ye, Sarah?—an old, Sunday go-to-meetin’ woman snivvelin’ and prayin’ to God for pardon! Pardon for what? Because two sneakin’ thieves are dead and done for? I spoke no word, I tell ye—but if I had, I’d not repent it. What I’ve done I’ve done, and I’ve never asked pardon o’ God or men for ought I’ve done, and never will. Confess, and give up the gold I’ve dreamed of all my life that I’ve found at last! By thunder, ye must think I’m crazed!
Mrs. Bartlett—[Seeming to shrivel up on her chair as she sees she has lost—weakly.] You be lost, Isaiah—no one can stop you.
Bartlett—[Triumphantly.] Aye, none’ll stop me. I’ll go my course alone. I’m glad ye see that, Sarah.
Mrs. Bartlett—[Feebly trying to get to her feet.] I’ll go to home.
Bartlett—Ye’ll stay, Sarah. Ye’ve had your say, and I’ve listened to ye; now I’ll have mine and ye listen to me. [Mrs. Bartlett sinks back in her chair exhaustedly. Bartlett continues slowly.] The schooner sails at dawn on the full tide. I ask ye again and for the last time, will ye christen her with your name afore she sails?