“Now,” she said, advancing towards him, “first of all, I want to know what harm I have ever done you that you should drug me, and then attempt to kill me.” The pointed question was asked in a tone that was the reverse of reassuring.
“I did not.”
“To deny it is useless,” she declared vehemently. “I have ample proof of your villainy; moreover, I intend that you shall be justly punished.”
“Why, what do you mean to do?” he cried in alarm. He had been cleverly entrapped, and saw no means of escape from his irate victim.
“What I do depends entirely upon your attitude towards me,” answered she in a calm tone. “Like a foolish girl, I trusted implicitly to your honour, and you—a clergyman—tried to kill me.”
“I did not do it—indeed I did not.”
“No; I am well aware that you were too cowardly to draw the knife across my throat. But you enticed me to dine with you: you put a narcotic into my wine and conveyed me to that house—for what purpose? Why, so that your cowardly accomplice might kill me.” He was thoroughly alarmed. She evidently knew the whole circumstances, and it was useless, he thought, to conceal the truth.
“If—if I admit all this, may I not ask your pardon—your mercy?”
“Mercy!” she repeated. “What mercy did you show me when I was helpless in your hands? Only by a mere vagary of Fate I am not now in my grave. You thought you were safe—that your holy habiliments would prevent you being recognised as the man with whom I dined. But you made a great mistake, and I have found you.”
“Will you not accept my apology?” he asked in a low voice.