“We'll see.... But you're my wife now!”
With the latter words the man subtly changed. Something of the power she had felt in him before his illness began again to be manifested. Joan divined that these comrades had caused the difference in him.
“You won't dare—!” Joan was unable to conclude her meaning. A tight band compressed her breast and throat, and she trembled.
“Will you dare go out there and tell them you're NOT my wife?” he queried. His voice had grown stronger and his eyes were blending shadows of thought.
Joan knew that she dared not. She must choose the lesser of two evils. “No man—could be such a beast to a woman—after she'd saved his life,” she whispered.
“I could be anything. You had your chance. I told you to go. I said if I ever got well I'd be as I was—before.”
“But you'd have died.”
“That would have been better for you..... Joan, I'll do this. Marry you honestly and leave the country. I've gold. I'm young. I love you. I intend to have you. And I'll begin life over again. What do you say?”
“Say? I'd die before—I'd marry you!” she panted.
“All right, Joan Randle,” he replied, bitterly. “For a moment I saw a ghost. My old dead better self!... It's gone.... And you stay with me.”