"If you don't kill me--and you won't, you're afraid--I'll have you hanged!"
"So with you also it is a choice of evils."
"Write what I told you--write it----"
She had raised her voice nearly to a scream. All at once she was still, leaving her sentence unfinished. There were sounds without of a key being put in a lock, of a door being opened, of steps in the passage. She spoke in a whisper, hurriedly, eagerly, and the fashion of her countenance was changed:
"That's Mr. Dale come back from the station. If you don't write what I told you now, I'll call him in--I will!"
He also spoke in a whisper, and in some subtle fashion his countenance was also changed:
"Mabel, don't--don't be hard on me."
"Then write, write what I told you; write it now. If I do call him in it'll be too late. Write!"
He drew the bill stamp towards him and picked up the fountain pen. His air was more than a trifle sullen.
"What am I to write?"