“If it is a mistake, Mr Lister, you have nothing to mind; I now wish to be alone.”
“But, Miriam, dearest Miriam, grant me a few minutes’ conversation. I assure you I can set myself right in your eyes.”
“If it is all a mistake, Mr Lister, why did you threaten Antony Grace, if he dared to tell me the words I heard?”
“Because I was angry with him for making such a blunder, and I feared that it would upset you. Let me speak to you alone. Miriam, dear Miriam, you force me to speak to you like this before Antony Grace. I tell you,” he cried, desperately trying to catch her hand, “I swear to you—what he said is a tissue of lies.”
“And I tell you,” she cried scornfully, “that Antony Grace never told an untruth in his life. Mr Lister, I am a woman, and unprotected. I ask you now to leave my house.”
“I cannot leave you with that boy, and no opportunity for defending myself. I must have a counsellor.”
“You shall have one, John Lister,” she said in a low, dull voice. “I will be your counsellor when he accuses you.”
“Heaven bless you?” he exclaimed excitedly. “Your loving heart will take my part.”
“My womanly duty, John Lister, and my plighted faith will join to defend you from this grave charge.”
“Let me stay and plead my own cause, dearest Miriam,” he cried, stretching out his hands and fixing his eyes upon hers; but her look was cold, stern, and pitiless, and for answer she pointed to the door.