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Stephen Of Steens; A Tale Of Wild Justice, a fiction by Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch |
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Chapter 14 |
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_ CHAPTER XIV A dull fire burnt on the hearth, banked high upon a pile of white wood-ash. Beside it lay a curiously-shaped ladle with a curl at the end of its iron handle. Two candles stood on the oval table in the centre of the room-- the table at which she had been used to sit as mistress. She found her accustomed chair and seated herself. She had no doubt but that this man meant to kill her. In a dull way she wondered how it would be. Roger, having locked the door, came slowly forward and waited, looking down at her, with his back to the hearth. By-and-by she lifted her face. "How will you do it?" she asked, very quietly, meeting his eyes. For the moment he did not seem to understand. Then, drawing in his breath, he laughed to himself--almost without sound, and yet she heard it. "There's more than one way, if you was woman. But I've been reading the Bible: there's a deal about witches in the Bible, and so I came to understand ye." He stared at her and nodded. Having once lifted her face, she could eye him steadily. But she made no answer. He stooped and picked up the ladle at his feet. "You needn't be afraid," he said slowly: "I promised Trevarthen I wouldn't hurt you beforehand. And afterwards--it'll be soon over. D'ye know what I use this for? It's for melting bullets." He felt in his waistcoat pocket, drew out a crown-piece, held it for a moment betwixt finger and thumb, and dropped it into the ladle. "They say 'tis the surest way with a witch," said he; then, after a pause, "As for that lawyer-fellow of yours--" And here he paused again, this time in some astonishment; for she had risen, and now with no fear in her eyes--only scorn. "Go on," she commanded. "Well," concluded Roger grimly, "where you fought me as my father's wife he fought for dirty pay, and where you cheated me he lead you into cheating. Therefore, if I caught him, he'd die no such easy death. Isn't that enough?" "I thank you," she said, and her eyes seemed to lighten as they looked into his. "You are a violent man, but not vile--as some. You have gone deep, and you meant to kill me to-morrow--or is it to-night? But I mean to save you from that." "I think not, mistress." "I think 'yes,' stepson--that is, if you believe that, killing me, you will kill also your father's child!" For a moment he did not understand. His eyes travelled over her as she stood erect, stretching out her hands. Suddenly his head sank. He did not cry out, though he knew--as she knew-- that the truth of it had killed him. Not for one moment--it was characteristic of him--did he doubt. In her worst enemy she found, in the act of killing him, her champion against the world. He groped for the door, unlocked it, and passed out. In the kitchen he spoke to Jane the cook, who ran and escorted Mrs. Stephen, not without difficulty, up to her own room. Roger remained as she left him, staring into the fire. _ |
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