With a word she could do this; his life was in the balance
that she held as utterly as though it were now hers to sign, or to
destroy, his death-warrant. It rested with her to speak and to say he
had no guilt.
But to do this she must sacrifice herself. She stood mute, irresolute,
a shudder running through her till her diamonds shook in the light; the
heavy tears stole slowly down, one by one, and fell upon the blurred
and blackened paper; her heart ached with an exceeding bitterness.
Then shudderingly still, and as though there were a coward crime in the
action, her hand unclosed and let the letter fall into the spirit flame
of a silver lamp, burning by; the words that were upon it merited a
better fate, a fonder cherishing, but--they would have compromised her.
She let them fall, and burn, and wither. With them she gave up his life
to its burden of shame, to its fate of exile.
She would hear his crime condemned, and her lips would not open; she
would hear his name aspersed, and her voice would not be raised; she
would know that he dwelt in misery, or died under foreign suns
unhonored and unmourned, while tongues around her would babble of his
disgrace--and she would keep her peace.
She loved him--yes; but she loved better the dignity in which the world
held her, and the diamonds from which the law would divorce her if their
love were known.
She sacrificed him for her reputation and her jewels; the choice was
thoroughly a woman's.
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