'Your preserver was the plague,' rejoined Disbrowe, mournfully.
The unfortunate lady then, for the first time, perceived that she was attacked by the pestilence, and a long and dreadful pause ensued, broken only by exclamations of anguish from both.
'Disbrowe!' cried Margaret at length, raising herself in bed, 'you have deeply, irrecoverably injured me. But promise me one thing.'
'I swear to do whatever you may desire,' he replied.
'I know not, after what I have heard, whether you have courage for the deed,' she continued. 'But I would have you kill this man.'
'I will do it,' replied Disbrowe.
'Nothing but his blood can wipe out the wrong he has done me,' she rejoined. 'Challenge him to a duel—a mortal duel. If he survives, by my soul, I will give myself to him.'
'Margaret!' exclaimed Disbrowe.
'I swear it,' she rejoined,' and you know my passionate nature too well to doubt I will keep my word.'
'But you have the plague!'