“Murderer!” she exclaimed, standing right before him in the narrow pathway. “Thank God! I came in time to witness your crime!”
“Woman!” cried Markworth, trying to brush past her. “You’re mad! What do you mean? Let me pass!”
“Murderer!” she repeated, with withering bitterness, still blocking the way. “Murderer!”
“Good God! Clara, what do you mean?”
“Mean, Allynne Markworth? What do I mean! That you are caught at last in your own toils! I knew you were a swindler, a cheat, a villain! I can now prove that you are a murderer as well!”
“For God’s sake, Clara, do not say that! You don’t think I’ve murdered the girl?”
She still looked him full in the face, but made no reply; so he went on hurriedly—
“Why, she fell over the cliff herself! I never touched her! I was just—”
“Ha! ha!” she laughed, a cold, bitter laugh. “Tell that to the officers of justice who will be soon in pursuit of you! To the jury who will try you! To the judge who will sentence you to your final end! I don’t want to hear your lying story!”
Markworth turned pale and shook with fear. “What do you mean, woman? Who will accuse me? God knows I never meant the poor girl any harm! She slipped, and fell back by accident; and I was just hastening down to her assistance when you—you—”