The Way We Live Now, Anthony Trollope [good story books to read .txt] 📗

but what you yourself have said unasked. I have asked no question about your property.”

“You are welcome. At last I have made it again my own. And now, sir, what else is there? I think I have been open with you. Is it because I protected myself from drunken violence that I am to be rejected? Am I to be cast aside because I saved my life while in the hands of a reprobate husband, and escaped from him by means provided by law;⁠—or because by my own energy I have secured my own property? If I am not to be condemned for these things, then say why am I condemned.”

She had at any rate saved him the trouble of telling the story, but in doing so had left him without a word to say. She had owned to shooting the man. Well; it certainly may be necessary that a woman should shoot a man⁠—especially in Oregon. As to the duel with her husband⁠—she had half denied and half confessed it. He presumed that she had been armed with a pistol when she refused Mr. Hurtle admittance into the nuptial chamber. As to the question of Hurtle’s death⁠—she had confessed that perhaps he was not dead. But then⁠—as she had asked⁠—why should not a divorce for the purpose in hand be considered as good as a death? He could not say that she had not washed herself clean;⁠—and yet, from the story as told by herself, what man would wish to marry her? She had seen so much of drunkenness, had become so handy with pistols, and had done so much of a man’s work, that any ordinary man might well hesitate before he assumed to be her master. “I do not condemn you,” he replied.

“At any rate, Paul, do not lie,” she answered. “If you tell me that you will not be my husband, you do condemn me. Is it not so?”

“I will not lie if I can help it. I did ask you to be my wife⁠—”

“Well;⁠—rather. How often before I consented?”

“It matters little; at any rate, till you did consent. I have since satisfied myself that such a marriage would be miserable for both of us.”

“You have?”

“I have. Of course, you can speak of me as you please and think of me as you please. I can hardly defend myself.”

“Hardly, I think.”

“But, with whatever result, I know that I shall now be acting for the best in declaring that I will not become⁠—your husband.”

“You will not?” She was still standing, and stretched out her right hand as though again to grasp something.

He also now rose from his chair. “If I speak with abruptness it is only to avoid a show of indecision. I will not.”

“Oh, God! what have I done that it should be my lot to meet man after man false and cruel as this! You tell me to my face that I am to bear it! Who is the jade that has done it? Has she money?⁠—or rank? Or is it that you are afraid to have by your side a woman who can speak for herself⁠—and even act for herself if some action be necessary? Perhaps you think that I am⁠—old.” He was looking at her intently as she spoke, and it did seem to him that many years had been added to her face. It was full of lines round the mouth, and the light play of drollery was gone, and the colour was fixed⁠—and her eyes seemed to be deep in her head. “Speak, man⁠—is it that you want a younger wife?”

“You know it is not.”

“Know! How should anyone know anything from a liar? From what you tell me I know nothing. I have to gather what I can from your character. I see that you are a coward. It is that man that came to you, and who is your master, that has forced you to this. Between me and him you tremble, and are a thing to be pitied. As for knowing what you would be at, from anything that you would say⁠—that is impossible. Once again I have come across a mean wretch. Oh, fool!⁠—that men should be so vile, and think themselves masters of the world! My last word to you is, that you are⁠—a liar. Now for the present you can go. Ten minutes since, had I had a weapon in my hand I should have shot another man.”

Paul Montague, as he looked round the room for his hat, could not but think that perhaps Mrs. Hurtle might have had some excuse. It seemed at any rate to be her custom to have a pistol with her⁠—though luckily, for his comfort, she had left it in her bedroom on the present occasion. “I will say goodbye to you,” he said, when he had found his hat.

“Say no such thing. Tell me that you have triumphed and got rid of me. Pluck up your spirits, if you have any, and show me your joy. Tell me that an Englishman has dared to ill-treat an American woman. You would⁠—were you not afraid to indulge yourself.” He was now standing in the doorway, and before he escaped she gave him an imperative command. “I shall not stay here now,” she said⁠—“I shall return on Monday. I must think of what you have said, and must resolve what I myself will do. I shall not bear this without seeking a means of punishing you for your treachery. I shall expect you to come to me on Monday.”

He closed the door as he answered her. “I do not see that it will serve any purpose.”

“It is for me, sir, to judge of that. I suppose you are not so much a coward that you are afraid to come to me. If so, I shall come to you; and you may be assured that I shall not be too timid to show myself and to tell my story.” He ended by saying that if she