“Tell them to depart. They are accursed. What is there between them and you—and you who carry my life in your heart!”
Willems said nothing. He stood before her looking down on the ground and repeating to himself: I must get that revolver away from her, at once, at once. I can’t think of trusting myself with those men without firearms. I must have it.
She asked, after gazing in silence at Joanna, who was sobbing gently—
“Who is she?”
“My wife,” answered Willems, without looking up. “My wife according to our white law, which comes from God!”
“Your law! Your God!” murmured Aissa, contemptuously.
“Give me this revolver,” said Willems, in a peremptory tone. He felt an unwillingness to close with her, to get it by force.
She took no notice and went on—
“Your law . . . or your lies? What am I to believe? I came—I ran to defend you when I saw the strange men. You lied to me with your lips, with your eyes. You crooked heart! . . . Ah!” she added, after an abrupt pause. “She is the first! Am I then to be a slave?”
“You may be what you like,” said Willems, brutally. “I am going.”