I have told you I should stand as a felon in the
eyes of the English law; I should have no civil rights; the greatest
mercy fate can show me is to let me remain forgotten here. It will not
be long, most likely, before I am thrust into the African sand, to rot
like that brave soul out yonder. Berkeley will be the lawful holder of
the title then; leave him in peace and possession now."
He spoke the words out to the end--calmly, and with unfaltering resolve.
But she saw the great dews gather on his temples, where silver threads
were just glistening among the bright richness of his hair and she heard
the short, low, convulsive breathing with which his chest heaved as he
spoke. She stood close beside him, and gazed once more full in his eyes,
while the sweet, imperious cadence of her voice answered him:
"There is more than I know of here. Either you are the greatest madman,
or the most generous man that ever lived. You choose to guard your
own secret; I will not seek to persuade it from you. But tell me one
thing--why do you thus abjure your rights, permit a false charge to rest
on you, and consign yourself forever to this cruel agony?"
His lips shook under his beard as he answered her.
"Because I can do no less in honor. For God's sake, do not you tempt
me!"
"Forgive me," she said, after a long pause. "I will never ask you that
again."
She could honor honor too well, and too well divine all that he suffered
for its sake, ever to become his temptress in bidding him forsake it;
yet, with a certain weariness, a certain dread, wholly unfamiliar to
her, she realized that what he had chosen was the choice not of his
present or of his future.
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