Thane made another move toward him. The minister raised his hand again,—a fat, white hand. It fascinated Thane and calmed him.
“Thane,” said the minister, “do you take this woman to be your lawful wife?”
“Not as he says it. Not for that shooting thing as he’s got there in his hand,” said Thane. “Not unless the girl wants it,” he added, as a disastrous and extremely complicated afterthought.
If he had flatly said no, the shape of the climax might have been different. There was no lack of courage. What stopped him was a romantic seizure.
The minister turned to Agnes.
“Will you, Agnes, take this man Thane to be your husband?”
The die was then in her hands. Thane had not meant to pass it. Gladly would he have retaken it if only he had known how to do so. The situation was beyond his resources. Moreover, the question—“Will you, Agnes, take this man Thane to be your husband?”—was so momentous to him that it deprived him of his wits and senses, save only the sense of hearing.
Emotions more dissimilar could scarcely be allotted to three men in a single scene, one of them mad, yet for a moment they were united by a feeling of awe and regarded Agnes with one expression. The woman’s courage surpasses the man’s. This he afterward denies in his mind, saying the difference is that she lacks a sense of consequences.
Agnes was cool and contemplative, and in no haste to answer. She kept them waiting. They could not see her face. Her head was bent over. With one hand she plucked at the pattern of her dress and seemed to be counting. Then slowly she began to nod her head.
“Yes,” she said, distinctly, though in a very far voice, “I will.”