"But it will take away my strength. I shall falter at the last moment. Boy, can you not see how weak I am?"
Her voice broke out of its husky whispers; she shivered from head to foot, and held out her shaking hands that he might clasp them.
Norman folded her close in his arms till the trembling subsided. Then she was firm again, but cold as stone.
"Go, now," she said. "Here we part forever. To-morrow, if I am to perish as a Christian woman, with the example of our blessed Saviour before me, I must meet the agonies of death alone. With you standing near me, my friend, it would be to die twice. Nay, take your arms from around me. I am stronger standing alone. But—but your hand still; let me hold that to the last."
"Oh, that it had the power to lead you from this horrible place!"
"Hush! hush! we must not think of that. Farewell! farewell!"
The last words were spoken on whispers, that came like a breath of frosted air from her lips.
"Farewell!" cried the young man, wringing her cold hand. "My God! my God! this is indeed like parting with a mother."
Norman moved toward the door, and struck its oaken planks blindly with his hand, thus summoning the turnkey. Barbara followed him a single step, her blue eyes strained with anguish, her lips moving like snow stirred by the wind.
A key turned in its lock; a heavy bolt was drawn. The door slowly opened. Then her voice broke out in a sharp cry.