"You mean you wish I had not lied!" She caught him up with swift intuition. "Well, to-day I would not, but then—well, I was full of pettiness, it seems to me now. But although I am far even yet from being a fine woman,—I know that!—I am not a poor enough creature to let you die for me. Oh, you are far too good for me. I never dreamed that a man would go as far as that for a woman in these days. I thought it was only in books—"
"The veriest trash is inspired by the actual occurrences of life—which is pretty much the same in books as out. And I guess men haven't changed much since the world began, so far as making fools of themselves about a woman is concerned."
As she stood with one hand pressed hard against the table she was far more deeply moved than a few moments since by fear, although outwardly calm. She had climbed far out of her old self within these prison walls, but she saw steeper heights before her, and she welcomed them.
"Then," she said deliberately, "I must cure you. Before I went out, I had prepared that glass of lemonade and put poison in it. I had planned for several weeks to kill him when a favourable opportunity arrived. I had stolen a secret poison from Anna—out of that chimney cupboard Cassie described. You see that I am a potential murderer,—and a cold-blooded one,—even if by a curious irony of fate some one else committed the deed. Now do you think I am worth giving up your life for—going to the electric chair—"
"Suppose we postpone further argument until the necessity arises—if it ever does. I fully expect you to be triumphantly acquitted. Tell me"—he looked at her curiously, for he divined something of her inner revolutions and hated himself the more that he was interested only as every good lawyer must be in human nature,—"could you do that in cold blood again?"
"No—not that way—never. I might let a pistol go off under the same provocation—that is bad enough."
"Oh, no. Remove the restraints of a lifetime—or perhaps it is merely a matter of vibration and striking the right key."
"And do you mean that—you still want to marry me?"
"Yes," he answered steadily. "Certainly I do."
"Ah!" Once more she wondered if he still loved her. But she had been too sure of him and of herself to harbour doubt for more than a passing moment. She had come to the conclusion that he had merely taken her at her word, and she knew the specialising instinct of the busy American. She had, indeed, wondered if it were not the strongest instinct he possessed. And in spite of her new humility, she had suffered no loss of confidence in herself as a woman. She vaguely felt that she had lost something of this man's esteem, but trusted to time and her own charm to dim the impression. For she had made up her mind to marry him. Not only would it be the wisest possible move after acquittal,—a decent time after,—but during sleepless hours she had come to the conclusion that she loved this brilliant knightly young man as deeply as it was in her power to love any one. And after this terrible experience and the many changes it had wrought within her, she wanted to be happy.