"Silence, Mrs. McQuirter! with your bad and cruel tongue."
Mrs. McQuirter turned and stood aghast. The door of the sleeping-room had opened without noise, and framed in the opening stood Dionysius, like the picture of his canonized namesake stepped out of some Gothic window. One arm was thrust into the sleeve of a purple dressing-gown which was wrapped about him, leaving exposed his chest and other arm clothed in their snowwhite sleeping gear. Excitement caused by the altercation he must have overheard, and the exertion of rising had brought a feverish flush to his cheeks, burning into hectic spots amid the pallor of illness, and there was a lustre in his eye, which could the world have seen, it would have reconsidered its judgment of his appearance as ordinary and commonplace.
"How dare you address my kind visitor--my friend--in the wicked words I have heard you use?"
Mrs. McQuirter was taken aback; but being now, to use her own phrase, "in for it," as having sinned beyond forgiveness, and sure to lose her lodger, it seemed best to retreat in good order, and show neither fear nor remorse.
"What a lone widdy like me says, Mr. Bunce, ain't of no 'count to a gentleman like you, sir, and I have always done my very best to make you comfortable, so my mind's easy. It's what the rector's lady says, and the quality in your church, and if you like to have them speaking that way of you and that--that female there, as is ashamed to look an honest woman in the face, 'taint no affairs of mine."
Judith felt as if she would gladly die, and sank from the stool to the carpet in a collapsed heap. If the ground would have opened and swallowed her, how thankful she would have been; but it did not, and she could but bury her face deeper in her lap.
"The lady you have presumed to scandalize so shamefully," the curate resumed, "has called here at my earnest request. If I could induce her to come more frequently she would be even more welcome; and in case you should still have any doubts, let me tell you plainly that if this lady would condescend to accept me, there is no one I would so gladly make my wife. Now! I have said all that can possibly interest you. Leave the room instantly, and close the door."
The door closed behind Mrs. McQuirter and the two were left together. Judith's confusion was too great to permit her to lift her head, but there was a tremor of expectancy in the heap of silk and sealskin into which she had collapsed, which made itself felt in the surrounding air. She had ceased to sob, and became all ear. Even the silk of her gown, though she was crouched so close that to draw breath without a movement seemed impossible, forbore to rustle.
Dionysius stood still in his white and purple like a Gothic saint, but less erect now that the impulse of battle had spent itself. He stood a committed man, yet a man who has not yet spoken, shivering on the brink of the proposal which he has bound himself to make. You remember the feeling, my married friend, when the words grew too unwieldy to articulate, and there was a pause. The leading up to the grand climax had been achieved, the lady and the universe were waiting, the very next word must be the word of fate, and you were not dreaming of drawing back, but still it lingered; and oh! the effort it took to launch that ill-formed sentence! Dionysius stood, and his strength was waning. Before him there was the prostrate heap of clothing which waited but made no sign, and the air around was still and listening. The very fire forgot to blaze and crackle, and looked at him silently in red unblinking expectation. Only the clock on the mantelpiece went on unmoved, counting the fleeting seconds as they sped with dispassionate calmness. They were slipping away, and so too was his strength, and yet he had not spoken.
"Judith," he said at last with a great effort; but when he had so far found his voice the words came easier.