Uncomplainingly the man had resigned his hope of the greatest joy that could come to his strong, unselfish soul—Lucy’s love. For the sake of her whom he loved he had concealed his suffering. He had smothered the sorrow that well nigh wrenched the heart out of his bosom, that he might minister to her in the hour of her mental affliction. He had shed his blood in shielding with his breast the man whom she had selected in his stead. All this he had done as ungrudgingly and gladly as he had tended her slightest bidding when as wee maid she had ruled him.
Love demanded of this great heart the final and culminating sacrifice. Could he, would he offer up his honor on the altar of his love?
To this knight by right of nature, honor and truth were dearer far than his blood or his life. Would he surrender the one prize he cherished highest for his hopeless love’s sake?
“I will swear that you were aboard my ship with me every hour of the night on which the crime of which you stand accused was committed. An absolute alibi alone can save you. May God forgive you! May God forgive me! and may the people of Massachusetts pardon
Perjured Jack Dunlap.”
Such was the letter sent by the sailor, by well paid and trusty hand, to the successful suitor for Lucy’s hand, now closely mewed within the prison walls of Boston’s strongest jail.
Could any man’s love be greater than the love of him who sent that letter?