“It is more unpleasant for me than for you,” said Judith.
“It is a most awkward complication. Never heard of such a case before. Don’t you think that after a good night’s rest and a good supper—and let me advise a stiff glass of something warm, taken medicinally, you understand—that you will come round to a better mind.”
“To another mind I shall not come round. I suppose I am half married—never by my will shall that half be made into a whole.”
“And what do you want me to do?” asked Mr. Mules, thoroughly put out of his self-possession by this extraordinary scene.
“Nothing,” answered Judith, “save to bear testimony that I utterly and entirely refuse to complete the marriage which was half done—by answering to those questions with a consent, which I failed to answer in church because I fainted, and to wear the ring which was forced on me when I was insensible, and to sign the register now I am in full possession of my wits. We will detain you no longer.”
Judith left along with Jamie and Mr. Menaida, and Mr. Mules returned to his sermon. He pulled at his pipe till the almost expired fire was rekindled into glow, and he mixed himself a little more brandy and water. Then with his pipe in the corner of his mouth he looked at his discourse. It did not quite please him, it was undigested.
“Dear me!” said Mr. Desiderius. “My mind is all of a whirl, and I can do nothing to this now. It must go as it is—yet stay, I’ll change the title. General Piety is rather pointless. I’ll call it Practical Piety.”
Judith returned to Pentyre Glaze. She was satisfied with what she had done; anger and indignation were in her heart. The man to whom she had given her hand had enlisted her poor brother in the wicked work of luring unfortunate sailors to their destruction. She could hardly conceive of anything more diabolical than this form of wrecking: her Jamie was involved in the crime of drawing men to their death. A ship had been wrecked, she knew that by the minute guns, and if lives were lost from it, the guilt in a measure rested on the head of Jamie. But for her intervention he would have been taken in the act of showing light to mislead mariners, and would certainly have been brought before magistrates and most probably have been imprisoned. The thought that her brother, the son of such a father, should have escaped this disgrace through an accident only, and that he had been subjected to the risk by Coppinger, filled her veins with liquid fire. Thenceforth there could be nothing between her and Captain Cruel, save antipathy, resentment, and contempt on her part. His passion for her must cool or chase itself away. She would never yield to him a hair’s breadth.
Judith threw herself on her bed, in her clothes. She could not sleep. Wrath against Coppinger seethed in her young heart. Concerned she was for the wrecked, but concern for them was over-lapped by fiery indignation against the wrecker. There was also in her breast self-reproach. She had not accepted as final her father’s judgment on the man. She had allowed Coppinger’s admiration of herself to move her from a position of uncompromising hostility, and to awake in her suspicions that her dear, dear father might have been mistaken, and that the man he condemned might not be guilty as he supposed.
As she lay tossing on her bed, turning from side to side, her face now flaming, then white, she heard a noise in the house. She sat up on her bed and listened. There was now no light in the room, and she would not go into that of her aunt to borrow one. Miss Trevisa might be asleep, and would be vexed to be disturbed. Moreover resentment against her aunt for having forced her into the marriage was strong in the girl’s heart, and she had no wish to enter into any communications with her.