I
could see some twinge of remorse had seized upon him. At last he spoke.
"Cumberledge," he said, in a very low and almost frightened tone, "don't
let her come near me! I can't bear it. I can't bear it."
Ill as he was, I did not mean to let him think I was ignorant of his
motive. "You can't bear a woman whose life you have attempted," I said,
in my coldest and most deliberate way, "to have a hand in nursing you!
You can't bear to let her heap coals of fire on your head! In that you
are right. But, remember, you have attempted MY life too; you have twice
done your best to get me murdered."
He did not pretend to deny it. He was too weak for subterfuges. He only
writhed as he lay. "You are a man," he said, shortly, "and she is a
woman. That is all the difference." Then he paused for a minute or two.
"Don't let her come near me," he moaned once more, in a piteous voice.
"Don't let her come near me!"
"I will not," I answered. "She shall not come near you. I spare you
that. But you will have to eat the food she prepares; and you know SHE
will not poison you. You will have to be tended by the servants she
chooses; and you know THEY will not murder you.
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