As for Joyce, when the Doctor left her she sank into a chair weak and faint. She saw Andrew Harmon gazing up at the window where Calhoun was, and a terror seized her. She now knew that she loved Calhoun, but with that knowledge also came the thought that her love was hopeless, that even if Calhoun returned her love, her father would never consent to their union. He would rather see her dead than married to a Rebel, especially a hated Morgan raider. Long did she struggle with her own heart, her sense of duty, her ideas of patriotism; and duty conquered. She would give him up, but she would save him.
It was evening before she could muster strength to have the desired interview with Calhoun. When she did enter the room it was with a step so languid, a face so pinched and drawn, that Calhoun stared in amazement.
“Joyce, what is it?” he cried. “Are you sick?”
“Not sick, only a little weary,” she answered, as she sank into a chair and motioned for the nurse to leave them. No sooner was she gone than Joyce told Calhoun what had happened. Her voice was so passionless that Calhoun wondered if she [pg 277]cared, wondered if he had been mistaken in thinking she loved him.
“Joyce, do you care if I go to prison?” he asked.
“Care?” she cried. “The thought is terrible. You shall not go, I will save you.”
“Joyce! Joyce! tell me that you love me, and it will make my cell in prison a heaven. Don’t you see that I love you, that you saved my poor life only that I might give it to you? Joyce, say that you love me!”
For answer she sank on her knees by his bedside and laid her head on his breast. He put his weak arms around her, and held her close. For a while she remained still, then gently disengaging his arms, she arose. There was a look on her face that Calhoun did not understand.
“The first embrace, and the last,” she sighed. “Oh, Calhoun, why did we ever meet?”
“What do you mean?” he asked, his lips growing white.