Hervey grew uncomfortable at the girl’s prolonged silence. He cared nothing for her feelings; he cared nothing for the heart he had broken. He cared only for the money he had not yet secured. He realized only too well that, whatever protest his sister might offer, he had convinced her of Iredale’s guilt; it was only a question of time before she admitted it openly. But some feeling of doubt prompted him to secure his wage without delay. Thus his greed rushed him on to a false trail.
Halfway to the house he broke the silence.
“Well, Prue, you cannot refute my evidence. Iredale is the man you have all been seeking. I have served you well. You yourself have escaped a course which would have brought you lifelong regret. Think of it! What would it have meant to you had you married the man? Terrible! Terrible!”
The girl looked up. There was a wild, hunted look in her eyes. Her brother’s words had in some way driven her at bay. He had struck a chord which had set her every nerve on edge, and in doing so had upset all his best-laid schemes. A flood of passionate protest surged to her lips and flowed forth in a seething torrent. She remembered what his story had been told for; she had forgotten for the moment, so well had he acted his part, and had thought only that 264 what he had said was the outcome of his regard for her. Now she turned upon him like a tigress.
“Judas!” she cried, a flush of rage sweeping up into her face as the words hissed from between her teeth. “You have come to sell this man. Your thoughts have nothing to do with the meting out of human justice. You want a price for your filthy work. I loathe you! What curse is on our family that you should have been born into it? You shall have your money; do you hear? You shall have it, and with it goes my curse. But not yet. My conditions are not fulfilled. I do not believe you; your story has not convinced me; I can see no reason in it. Ha, ha!” and she laughed hysterically. “You cannot make me believe it because I will not. You shall have your money, I will not go back on my word; but you must fulfil the conditions. You must convince me of the reason in your story. You will earn your pay as you have never earned anything in your life. Shall I tell you how you will earn it? You will prove your story before judge and jury. When you have convinced them you will have convinced me. Then I will pay you. My God, what taint has brought such blood into the veins of our flesh? If Iredale is the murderer he shall pay the extreme penalty, and you––whether you like it or not––shall be instrumental in that punishment. You shall be his accuser; you shall see him to the scaffold. And after it is over, after you have received the sum of your blood-money, I will tell the world of your doings. That you––my brother––demanded a price for your work. They––the world––shall know you; shall loathe you as I loathe you. You shall be an 265 outcast wherever you go, stamped with the brand of Judas––the most despised of all men. Better for you if you stood in George Iredale’s place on the scaffold than face the world so branded. Oh, you wretched man, you have destroyed my life––my all! Go, and bring the police. Go to those whose duty it is to listen to such stories as yours. Now I will drive you to it; you shall go, whether you like it or not. Refuse, and I will lay the information and force you to become a witness. You thought you were dealing with a soft, silly woman; you thought to cajole the price out of me, and then, having obtained what you desired, to leave me to do the work. Fool! You will face George Iredale, the accuser and the accused. You shall earn your money. I know the ways of such men as you. Do you know what you are doing? Do you know the name that such work as yours goes by? It is blackmail!”
The girl paused for breath. Then she went on with a bitterness that was almost worse than the contempt in all she had said before.
“But rest content. Every penny you have asked for shall be yours when Iredale’s crimes are expiated. Nor shall I give to the world the story of my brother’s perfidy until such time as you have gone out of our world for ever. Go, go from me now; I will not walk beside you.”
Hervey’s face was a study in villainous expression as he listened to his sister’s hysterical denunciation. He knew the reason of her tirade. He knew that she loved Iredale. He had convinced her of this lover’s crimes; he knew this. And now, woman-like, she turned upon him––for his hand, his words had 266 destroyed her happiness. But her words smote hard. The lowest natures care not what others think of them, but those others’ spoken thoughts have a different effect. So it was with Hervey. It mattered nothing to him what the girl thought of him––what the world thought of him. But words––abuse––had still power to move him.
She struck the right note when she said the money down was what he wanted. Now he saw that he had over-reached himself, and he cursed himself for having trusted to a woman’s promise. There was but one thing left for him to do. He controlled himself well when he replied.
“Very well, sister,” he said. “In spite of what you say, you are going back on your word. You should have thought to fling dirt before you entered into a compact with me. However, I care nothing for all your threats. As you have said, I want money. Nothing else matters to me. So I will go to Winnipeg and see this thing through.”