Prison life had already told on Bennet, and she observed a marked change in his appearance, which filled her with pity; but the man was in a black, reckless, defiant humour, as she soon noticed; even the near presence of a warder did not deter him from expressing what was in his mind.
"I'm very, very sorry for you, Harry," she said, and there was the sound of tears in her voice. It was the first time, too, since their engagement that she had called him "Harry."
"Sorry!" he cried. "Do you think I believe that? Don't be a hypocrite. You are glad, you must be glad of my misfortune. You think it will set you free!"
"Oh, Harry, do not think of me; think of yourself!"
"Think of myself!" said Bennet, fiercely, implacably. "Can I not think of myself and of others too?"
"I sent for you," Bennet went on without heeding her appeal, "to tell you that I will not release you. I do not believe that I shall be found guilty of murder--it was no murder, and I shall not release you from your engagement to me. But if I am found guilty, you may be sure I shall not go out of the world without letting it know the truth about Francis Eversleigh. There! That is all! And now you can go."
"Harry, Harry!" cried Kitty; "how can I touch your heart?"
"Touch my heart! The day has gone past for that. Now go--and go at once; the sight of you is torture. Go!"
Though Bennet had said to Kitty Thornton that the sight of her was torture to him, yet, when she had departed, her pleading face remained present for a short time in his thoughts and temporarily softened him. But this frame of mind quickly passed, leaving him a prey to hatred, malignity, and the darkest passions.
His devilish humour now prompted him to an act of hideous malice. The idea came to him that if he had Gilbert Eversleigh as his counsel at the forthcoming trial, he would inflict on Gilbert, as well as on Kitty, the most exquisite pain. It was the idea of a fiend rather than of a human being, and showed, as perhaps nothing else could have done, how Bennet's whole nature had been warped to the side of evil. He gloated over this monstrous idea, telling himself that in this way, whatever happened, he would glut his desire for revenge. He knew that, in ordinary circumstances, Gilbert would never consent to appear for him if he could avoid doing so; but a threat to expose Francis Eversleigh would be enough, Bennet believed, to settle the matter. Whether Gilbert would or would not be a good counsel counted for little with him in comparison with the gratification he expected and promised himself, from seeing the man he had always hated placed in this position.