“Are you certain, Minna, that you care for me no longer—in no way?”
“Oh, don’t re-open that,” she said. “All that was killed for ever—at Brighton—in December. And even if it wasn’t, do you think I could willingly give up two hundred thousand pounds for you?” She laughed scornfully. “You indeed set a high value upon yourself. Do you know,” she added with a sudden firmness, to which the deep tones of her voice gave a savage intensity, “I would commit any crime rather than give up that money? All such talk is useless. Let me have your final answer and be done with it.”
“Very well,” he replied, decisively. “I will grant you your absolute freedom on one condition: that this compact between us is irrevocable.”
“It shall be. Will you swear to it, on your side—a solemn, binding oath?”
“I give you my word of honour.”
“I don’t much believe in a man’s honour,” she said, contemptuously. “An oath is different.”
“I will do as you like,” he replied.
She rose, vanished for a moment among the shadows of the room, and returned with an Old Testament.
“I swear on this, by the God of my fathers, that in no circumstances whatever will I reveal the fact of my marriage with you. I renounce you for ever as my husband. I renounce all claims upon your support, sympathy, and consideration. I swear never to interfere in any shape or form with your actions, leaving you free to marry again without any previous notification to me. So help me God.”
She stood deadly pale, her teeth chattering, worn out by the stiffness and exhaustion of her long vigil, and handed him the book that she held in shaking fingers.