“A chance? What chance?”
“The chance of taking a first step up the ladder in my esteem.”
“I do not understand you.”
“Therefore I am sorry.”
“What is your meaning?”
“Captain Coppinger,” said Judith, firmly, looking straight into his dark face and flickering eyes, “I am very, very sorry. When I told you that I accepted your offer only because I could not help myself, because I was a poor, feeble orphan, with a great responsibility laid on me, the charge of my unfortunate brother; that I only accepted you for his sake when I told you that I did not love you, that our characters, our feelings were so different that it would be misery to me to become your wife—that it would be the ruin of my life, then—had you been a man of generous soul, you would have said—I will not force myself upon you, but I will do one thing for you, assist you in protecting Jamie from the evil that menaces him. Had you said that I would have honored you, and as I said just now, where I honor, there I may love. But you could not think such a thought, no such generous feeling stirred you. You held me to my bond.”
“I hold you to your bond,” exclaimed Coppinger, in loud rage. “I hold you, indeed. Even though you can neither love nor honor me, you shall be mine. You likened me to a bird of prey that must have its prey or die, to a fire—and that must have its fuel—to a wrecker, and he must have his wreck, I care not. I will have you as mine, whether you love me or not.”
“So be it, then,” said Judith, sadly. “You had your opportunity and have put it from you. We understand each other. The slave is master—and a tyrant.”