'I have made my confession that my love is mad. It is so mad, that
had the ties between me and my dear lost boy been one silken thread
less strong, I might have swept even him from your side, when you
favoured him.'
A film come over the eyes she raises for an instant, as though he
had turned her faint.
'Even him,' he repeats. 'Yes, even him! Rosa, you see me and you
hear me. Judge for yourself whether any other admirer shall love
you and live, whose life is in my hand.'
'What do you mean, sir?'
'I mean to show you how mad my love is. It was hawked through the
late inquiries by Mr. Crisparkle, that young Landless had confessed
to him that he was a rival of my lost boy. That is an inexpiable
offence in my eyes. The same Mr. Crisparkle knows under my hand
that I have devoted myself to the murderer's discovery and
destruction, be he whom he might, and that I determined to discuss
the mystery with no one until I should hold the clue in which to
entangle the murderer as in a net. I have since worked patiently
to wind and wind it round him; and it is slowly winding as I
speak.'
'Your belief, if you believe in the criminality of Mr. Landless, is
not Mr. Crisparkle's belief, and he is a good man,' Rosa retorts.
'My belief is my own; and I reserve it, worshipped of my soul!
Circumstances may accumulate so strongly EVEN AGAINST AN INNOCENT
MAN, that directed, sharpened, and pointed, they may slay him. One
wanting link discovered by perseverance against a guilty man,
proves his guilt, however slight its evidence before, and he dies.
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