“Why should you be so chagrined, Captain Mathews?” she said. “There are many girls far more worthy than I am who would feel flattered by your attentions. I am sure you do not wish to persecute me.”
She was, woman-like, hoping by temporising with the man to prevent an open quarrel. He saw that he had succeeded in making her afraid of him.
“I set my heart on you, I set my soul on you, Betsy Linley, and you know that your father and mother favoured me; you, and you only, stood out against me.” He had put his face closer to hers, causing her to shrink back an inch or two. “But you will have me yet—you must—by the Lord, you shall!” he resumed. “I swear to you that I have set my soul upon you. Murder—what is murder to such a man as I have become through you—all through the curse of your beauty! Do you think that I would hold back my knife for the space of a second from the throat of any man who was going to take you away from me? I swear to you that I would kill him—kill him without mercy—and you—you too! My love is of that sort. I would account killing you the next best thing to wedding you. I’ll do either the one or the other—make up your mind to that—make up your mind to that! If you would save yourself—and him—and him, mind you—you will take me; ’tis your only chance.”
She was terrified, for she saw that he had reached that point in the madness of his jealousy which was reached by Othello when he cried:
“Blood, Iago—blood, blood!”
She had seen Garrick in the part, and had been thrilled by his awful delivery of the words. Even now, in spite of her terror, she did not fail to be struck with the marvellous accuracy of Garrick’s art. She was now face to face with the real thing—with the man in the clutch of an overwhelming passion; and yet she was not more terrified than she had been when Garrick’s voice had become hoarse while uttering those words of murder that had been put into the mouth of Othello by Shakespeare.
“What is this madness that has come to you?” she cried. “Oh, you must be quite mad! If you cared ever so little for me you would not overwhelm me with terror.”
“I don’t know which would be the sweeter—killing you or wedding you,” he said. He kept his eyes fixed upon hers for some seconds, and then he added in a lower tone that chilled her: “By heavens! I do know now—now!”
She gave a little cry. She had done her best to restrain it, for the dread of a quarrel taking place between the men was upon her, and in an instant Mr. Long had turned to her. Another instant and he had thrust himself between her and Mathews and had taken her hand. He was not looking at her, but straight into the face of Mathews.
“We must not be late, Miss Linley,” he said quietly, “and unless we hasten onward we shall not be in time to meet our friends at Bath-Easton. Stand aside, sir, if you please.”