She would not tell me what crime; she would
give me no particulars. Still, I gathered that, if not actually murder,
it was at least homicide. After that Ravengar had pestered her to marry
him--had even said that he would be content with a purely formal
marriage; had offered her enormous sums to agree to his proposal; and
had been constantly repulsed by her. She admitted to me that he had
appeared to be violently in love with her, but that his motive in
wanting marriage was to prevent her from giving evidence against him. I
asked her why she had not communicated with the police long since, and
she replied that nothing would induce her to do that.
'But,' I said, 'he will do his best to kill you.'
She said: 'I know it.'
And she said it so solemnly that I became extremely frightened. I knew
Ravengar, and I had marked the tone of his final words; and the more I
pondered the more profoundly I was imbued with this one idea: 'The life
of my future wife is not safe. Nothing can make it safe.'
I urged her to communicate with the police. She refused absolutely.
'Then one day you will be killed,' I said.
She gazed at me, and said: 'Can't you hit on some plan to keep me safe
for a year?'
I demanded: 'Why a year?'
I thought she was thinking of my short shrift.
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