'You know what I am going to say. I love you. What other men may mean when they use that expression, I cannot tell; what Imean is, that I am under the influence of some tremendous attraction which I have resisted in vain, and which overmasters me. You could draw me to fire, you could draw me to water, you could draw me to the gallows, you could draw me to any death, you could draw me to anything I have most avoided, you could draw me to any exposure and disgrace. This and the confusion of my thoughts, so that I am fit for nothing, is what I mean by your being the ruin of me. But if you would return a favourable answer to my offer of myself in marringe, you could draw me to any good--every good--with equal force. My circumstances are quite easy, and you would want for nothing. My reputation stands quite high, and would be a shield for yours. If you saw me at my work, able to do it well and respected in it, you might even come to take a sort of pride in me;--I would try hard that you should. Whatever considerations I may have thought of against this offer, I have conquered, and I make it with all my heart. Your brother favours me to the utmost, and it is likely that we might live and work together; anyhow, it is certain that he would have my best influence and support. I don't know what I could say more if Itried. I might only weaken what is ill enough said as it is. I only add that if it is any claim on you to be in earnest, I am in thorough earnest, dreadful earnest.'
The powdered mortar from under the stone at which he wrenched, rattled on the pavement to confirm his words.
'Mr Headstone--'
'Stop! I implore you, before you answer me, to walk round this place once more. It will give you a minute's time to think, and me a minute's time to get some fortitude together.'
Again she yielded to the entreaty, and again they came back to the same place, and again he worked at the stone.
'Is it,' he said, with his attention apparently engrossed by it, 'yes, or no?'
'Mr Headstone, I thank you sincerely, I thank you gratefully, and hope you may find a worthy wife before long and be very happy.
But it is no.'
'Is no short time necessary for reflection; no weeks or days?' he asked, in the same half-suffocated way.
'None whatever.'
'Are you quite decided, and is there no chance of any change in my favour?'
'I am quite decided, Mr Headstone, and I am bound to answer Iam certain there is none.'
'Then,' said he, suddenly changing his tone and turning to her, and bringing his clenched hand down upon the stone with a force that laid the knuckles raw and bleeding; 'then I hope that I may never kill him!'
The dark look of hatred and revenge with which the words broke from his livid lips, and with which he stood holding out his smeared hand as if it held some weapon and had just struck a mortal blow, made her so afraid of him that she turned to run away. But he caught her by the arm.
'Mr Headstone, let me go. Mr Headstone, I must call for help!'
'It is I who should call for help,' he said; 'you don't know yet how much I need it.'
The working of his face as she shrank from it, glancing round for her brother and uncertain what to do, might have extorted a cry from her in another instant; but all at once he sternly stopped it and fixed it, as if Death itself had done so.
'There! You see I have recovered myself. Hear me out.'
With much of the dignity of courage, as she recalled her self-reliant life and her right to be free from accountability to this man, she released her arm from his grasp and stood looking full at him.
She had never been so handsome, in his eyes. A shade came over them while he looked back at her, as if she drew the very light out of them to herself.
'This time, at least, I will leave nothing unsaid,' he went on, folding his hands before him, clearly to prevent his being betrayed into any impetuous gesture; 'this last time at least I will not be tortured with after-thoughts of a lost opportunity. Mr Eugene Wrayburn.'
'Was it of him you spoke in your ungovernable rage and violence?'
Lizzie Hexam demanded with spirit.
He bit his lip, and looked at her, and said never a word.
'Was it Mr Wrayburn that you threatened?'
He bit his lip again, and looked at her, and said never a word.
'You asked me to hear you out, and you will not speak. Let me find my brother.'
'Stay! I threatened no one.'
Her look dropped for an instant to his bleeding hand. He lifted it to his mouth, wiped it on his sleeve, and again folded it over the other. 'Mr Eugene Wrayburn,' he repeated.
'Why do you mention that name again and again, Mr Headstone?'
'Because it is the text of the little I have left to say. Observe!
There are no threats in it. If I utter a threat, stop me, and fasten it upon me. Mr Eugene Wrayburn.'
A worse threat than was conveyed in his manner of uttering the name, could hardly have escaped him.
'He haunts you. You accept favours from him. You are willing enough to listen to HIM. I know it, as well as he does.'
'Mr Wrayburn has been considerate and good to me, sir,' said Lizzie, proudly, 'in connexion with the death and with the memory of my poor father.'
'No doubt. He is of course a very considerate and a very good man, Mr Eugene Wrayburn.'
'He is nothing to you, I think,' said Lizzie, with an indignation she could not repress.
'Oh yes, he is. There you mistake. He is much to me.'
'What can he be to you?'
'He can be a rival to me among other things,' said Bradley.
'Mr Headstone,' returned Lizzie, with a burning face, 'it is cowardly in you to speak to me in this way. But it makes me able to tell you that I do not like you, and that I never have liked you from the first, and that no other living creature has anything to do with the effect you have produced upon me for yourself.'
