"Give it here!" he commanded hoarsely. "You _must_--and clear out--it will be all over in a couple of minutes!"
I made no reply, but held the weapon behind my back in a vice-like grip.
"Eva, do you hear me?--give it back," he reiterated, seizing my arm and shaking it violently.
"Hear _me_ first," I panted breathlessly. "Oh, Ronnie, how can you think of doing such an awful thing? Have you the heart to leave me out here all alone to face--whatever you shrink from?"
His expression changed, the rigidity relaxed, and he dropped my arm with a hasty gesture.
"Think, Ronnie, of death--and what it means."
"My dear Eva, I have been thinking of nothing else the last two hours. At seven-and-twenty there's a big bit of life due, but I have no alternative. I'm in a hideous fix, and there is only one way out."
"There must be another," I said; "this one is the coward's path. Oh, Ronnie, I implore you to take me into your confidence. _What_ has happened?"
"The family curse has overtaken me--that's all."
"Yes. What's bred in the bone there's no getting away from--it is part of oneself."
"Two heads are better than one. It may be the case of the mouse and the lion. Promise me that you will put this idea out of your head. Listen. I will make some hot coffee at the stove, and we will go and sit out in the veranda and you shall tell me _everything_. But before I leave you I must have your promise," and I looked him full in the eyes.
"All right," he agreed. "I give you my word, and you can go and make the coffee. You are a level-headed girl, and perhaps you may be able to see some glimmer of light in the darkness."
I glanced fearfully round the room trying to discover if there were any other weapon, then I went back into my own apartment and hid the revolver; returning, I lit the oil stove and prepared the coffee. As soon as it was ready I brewed two large cups and took one to Ronnie, who was standing by the table in the dining-room.
"I feel better for that," he said, "it clears my head. The other thing would have cleared my head too."
"Oh, don't!" I expostulated. "How can you?"
"Come on, then. Shall we sit in the veranda?"
I rather shrank from this suggestion, remembering my happy half-hour with Brian. That had been a love tale; now I was probably about to listen to a history containing the elements of life and death.