Rhoda groaned, and her hands left Madge’s shoulders to clasp each other, while she raised herself once more erect, to stand with her broad forehead knotted and wrinkled by her thoughts.
“And yet you listen to him—you consent to be his wife,” continued Madge. “Oh, Miss Penwynn, if not for my sake, for your own, don’t let me leave you to-night feeling that my journey has been in vain.”
“It is not true,” cried Rhoda, rousing herself once more, and speaking with stubborn determination not to believe the words she heard, and fighting hard against her heart, which was appealing so hard for the man she really loved. “Get up. Leave this house.”
Madge stood up now angrily, and faced her.
“Yes,” she said, “I’ll go, but you have heard the truth; and I’ll come between you at the church, and claim him, for he swore that I, and I only, should be his wife.”
“I’ll not believe it,” cried Rhoda, passionately. “Oh, would to God I could!” she moaned.
“You do believe it,” continued Madge.
“No, no; I’ll not believe it,” cried Rhoda. “Mr Trethick must have sent you here.”
The next minute she was gazing down at John Tregenna’s ghastly face, as he lay where he had fallen, while Madge was looking at him cold, stern, and unmoved.
“Do you believe me now?” said Madge.