“No, sir, no. You’ve broken all that, and I’ll never leave the poor dear—there!”
“Will you hear me speak first?” said Garstang, making a tremendous effort to keep down his rage.
“Yes, sir, I’ll listen,” said the woman; “but I’ll stop here.”
“Now, let me tell you, then—as a friend, mind—how I am situated. It is vital to me that we should be married at once, and you must see as a woman, that for her reputation’s sake, after being here with me so long, she ought to give up all opposition. Now, you see that—”
“I’d have said ‘Yes’ to it yesterday, sir,” said the woman, firmly; “but I can’t say it to-night.”
“Nonsense! I tell you it is for her benefit. I only want her to feel that further resistance is useless. There, now, I have spoken out to you. You see it is for the best. To-morrow or next day we shall be married by special license. I have made all the arrangements.”
“Then, now go and make all the arrangements for the poor dear’s funeral, you bad, wicked wretch!” cried the woman passionately, as she sank on her knees and clasped Kate about the waist. “Oh, my poor dear, my poor dear, he has murdered you!”
“Silence, idiot!” cried Garstang, in a fierce whisper. “Can’t you see that she is only asleep?”
“Asleep? Do you call this sleep? Look at her poor staring eyes. Feel her hands.—No, no, keep back. You shan’t touch her.”
She turned upon him with so savage and cat-like a gesture that he stopped short with his brows rugged and his hands clenched.