JUDITH. Oh, do you think I have not been telling myself that all night? Your death will be at my door. (_Impulsively, she gives him her hand, and adds, with intense earnestness_) If I could save you as you saved him, I would do it, no matter how cruel the death was.
RICHARD. (_holding her hand and smiling, but keeping her almost at arm’s length_). I am very sure I shouldn’t let you.
JUDITH. Don’t you see that I can save you?
RICHARD. How? By changing clothes with me, eh?
JUDITH. (_disengaging her hand to touch his lips with it_). Don’t (_meaning “Don’t jest”_). No: by telling the Court who you really are.
RICHARD. (_frowning_). No use: they wouldn’t spare me; and it would spoil half of his chance of escaping. They are determined to cow us by making an example of somebody on that gallows to-day. Well, let us cow them by showing that we can stand by one another to the death. That is the only force that can send Burgoyne back across the Atlantic and make America a nation.
JUDITH. (_impatiently_). Oh, what does all that matter?
RICHARD. (_laughing_). True: what does it matter? what does anything matter? You see, men have these strange notions, Mrs. Anderson; and women see the folly of them.
JUDITH. Women have to lose those they love through them.
RICHARD. They can easily get fresh lovers.
JUDITH. (_revolted_). Oh! (_Vehemently_) Do you realise that you are going to kill yourself?
RICHARD. The only man I have any right to kill, Mrs. Anderson. Don’t be concerned: no woman will lose her lover through my death. (_Smiling_) Bless you, nobody cares for me. Have you heard that my mother is dead?
RICHARD. Of heart disease—in the night. Her last word to me was her curse: I don’t think I could have borne her blessing. My other relatives will not grieve much on my account. Essie will cry for a day or two; but I have provided for her: I made my own will last night.
JUDITH. (_stonily, after a moment’s silence_). And I!
RICHARD. (_gaily and bluntly_). Not a scrap. Oh, you expressed your feelings towards me very frankly yesterday. What happened may have softened you for the moment; but believe me, Mrs. Anderson, you don’t like a bone in my skin or a hair on my head. I shall be as good a riddance at 12 today as I should have been at 12 yesterday.