“Then you would leave me to die while you went on enjoying your ‘career,’ as you call it?”
“I would leave you to take your chance.”
Harry began to tremble all over, and the tears rose to his eyes. His hand relaxed its hold on Annie’s arm, and fell down by his side.
Softened, frightened by the effect of her words, Annie clasped her little hands on his shoulder, and told him not to take her words so seriously, that she had spoken them only because she wanted him to take care of himself and get well fast.
“No, you don’t—no, you don’t! You want me to die, so that you may be free!” said he, in a hoarse, tremulous voice, keeping his head turned away from her.
Happily, his own emotion prevented his noticing the effect of his words on Annie, whose cheeks flushed suddenly, and whose tongue faltered as she was about to interrupt him. He continued:
“I see, I see! You want me to drink and kill myself, or ruin myself, so that you may go away and get praised for being a martyr! Go away—go away from me! I don’t want your little soft hands about me, when all the while I know your heart is hard and you hate me!” said he, shaking her off, vehemently.
Annie rose slowly, and walked with downcast head toward the door. But she had not shut it behind her before her husband’s voice called her back.
“Annie, Annie—come here—only one minute! I want to speak to you!”
She returned, and stood, with her eyes still down, very meekly before him.