"That's why I wakened you. You don't
know what the inside of my brain's like.... Why did you say to them
you found the scullery door open that night? You know perfectly well
it wasn't open."
She could scarcely speak.
"I--I--Louis don't talk about that now. You're too ill," she implored.
"I know why you said it."
"Be quiet!" she said sharply, and her voice broke.
But he continued in the same tone--
"You made up that tale about the scullery door because you guessed
I'd collared the money and you wanted to save me from being suspected.
Well, I did collar the money! Now I've told you!"
She burst into a sob, and her head dropped on to his body.
"Louis!" she cried passionately, amid her sobs. "Why ever did you tell
me? You've ruined everything now. Everything!"
"I can't help that," said Louis, with a sort of obstinate and defiant
weariness. "It was on my mind, and I just had to tell you. You don't
seem to understand that I'm dying."
Rachel jumped up and sprang away from the bed.
"Of course you're not dying!" she reproached him. "How can you imagine
such things?"
Her heart suddenly hardened against him--against his white-bandaged
head and face, against his feeble voice of a beaten martyr.
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