“What, then, is your decision?” asked the old woman, trembling from head to foot, and no longer able to conceal the horrible fears that had come upon her: for she began to fancy that her daughter would not yield even to the threats that had been used to coerce her. “What is your decision, I repeat?”
“To refuse all compromise—to accept the gauntlet which you threw down at first, and which you would now gladly take back again—to place myself in a condition of open hostility to you!” answered Laura, her countenance growing stern and pale, and her lips quivering slightly.
“But it will be transportation for us both,” exclaimed Mrs. Mortimer: “I for forgery—you for bigamy!”
“Permit me to give you my view of the case,” said Laura. “I hold a cheque for sixty thousand pounds, which I shall present to-morrow; and the money must be paid to me. The bankers will be the sufferers by the forgery—not I, nor the Marquis of Delmour. This disposes of one part of the question. For the rest, I have only to observe that even if I were tried and convicted for bigamy, a fortune of sixty thousand pounds would be no mean consolation during, perhaps, imprisonment for two years or transportation for seven. I am not, however, so sure that any prosecution of the kind will take place, be you never so vindictive: for I question whether you will have the courage to open your lips to accuse me of bigamy, seeing that it would not only be forgery with which I should charge you—but murder!”
“Murder!” repeated the old woman, half in indignation and half in terror: “what mean you?”
“I mean that Mr. Torrens, your husband, met with a violent death,” answered Laura,—“that you yourself gave me this information—and that you came over to London to be revenged upon him for his conduct of former times! Now, mother,” she exclaimed, her countenance suddenly becoming radiant with triumph,—“now will you dare to repeat your menaces against me?”
The old woman staggered back a few paces, and sank into a chair. The tables had been completely turned against her: she had come to conquer—and she must depart conquered;—she had sought out Laura in the hope of reducing her to submission—she was herself now crushed and overwhelmed.
There was something shocking in the mortal enmity which had thus sprung up between the mother and daughter,—the former threatening transportation—the latter pointing to the gibbet looming in the distance!
“But you know—you know, in your own heart, that I did not take the life of Torrens?” suddenly ejaculated the old woman, starting from her seat.
“I know nothing more than what you yourself told me, mother,” said Laura; “and if the matter should happen to go before the magistrate for investigation, I shall only state what I do know—and shall not assist your cause with any conjecture relative to your innocence.”