"As implicitly as I believe that I am standing before you now. And so will you when it is too late—not before."
"But think, man, think! How can such a thing be contemplated for a moment? Your life by my hands! No, no!"
"Let it drop. Forget that I ever told you. We shall see whether it turns out as I say. Moreover, something tells me that although we are preparing to leave this place, we shall not go!"
Without further argument he opened the door and went out. Ellison in his turn began to pace the room.
"He is mad, the man is undoubtedly mad. And yet God knows why he should be. If vileness has anything to do with it, I am despicable enough to do anything he might dream! Surely there never was so miserable a wretch as I! But we will go from here. Of that I am determined."
He began feverishly to put together the few little odds and ends he had collected during the past month. It was not a lengthy business, but it cut him to the heart to have to do it. If he left this place, where for a month he had been so happy, what would his future be? Turned out to seek employment again, would he drift back into the old vagabond life or not? And if he did, he asked himself, what would it matter? Who was there in the world to care? He tied up his bundle, threw it on the bed, and then in his turn left the hut. Esther was on the veranda of her own house. He crossed the path to speak to her.
"Miss McCartney," he said, "have you been able to find it in your heart to forgive me for my rudeness last night?"
Her hand shook and her voice trembled as she answered, with downcast eyes, "There is nothing to forgive, my lord."
"No, no; you must not call me that!"
He raised his hand as if to ward off a blow. She noticed the look of pain that leaped into his eyes.