“And to think of my baby, my little Monina in the hands of that ruffian. Monina, who is my only joy, snatched away from you and me! The mere thought of such a thing drives me mad.”
Leon looked at the floor with stern determination.
“A bold stroke on my part may save us yet,” said Pepa, looking up with a resolute flash.
“Hush—wait—” said Leon anxiously putting up his hand. “Listen.”
They were silent, holding their breath even.
And they heard in the corridor the slow solemn steps of many men carrying some heavy burden. The sound came nearer, passed, and died away. Pepa and Leon each in the attitude of holding the other back, listened in reverent silence to the procession that passed so near to them. Their beating hearts seemed to throb in unison. When silence had once more fallen on the house Leon looked at Pepa who had bent her head and whose eyes were full of tears.
“Are you praying?” he said.
“Oh! God!” exclaimed Pepa clasping her hands over her heart. “She is at peace,—I am tortured with grief and anxiety; she is enjoying eternal bliss as the reward of her virtues, and I am pointed at as a guilty creature, threatened with persecution, and my wretched heart is to be made the sport of the tricks of the law.—No, merciful Lord! I never prayed that she might die in order that I might triumph and be happy—that I never asked. I was not so wicked, and I do not deserve such punishment.—I hated her sometimes it is true, but not now, not now. I do not know whether I am afraid of her now, or whether it is only reverence that keeps her always in my thoughts—I see her before me wherever I turn, dead, and yet living.”
“She is happy!” said Leon in dull tones.
“But we have no time to be melancholy. We must decide, and act at once. Listen, I have a plan; the best, the only plan....”