"Enough to do what I am too poor a coward to do for myself, and Embarka has refused to do?"
"Not—oh, no, no, you can't mean——"
"Yes, thou hast guessed. No one need ever suspect. I would think of a way. I've thought of one already. There'd be no pain for me. And yet—I suppose because I am young and my blood runs hot in my veins, I fear—I am sure—I couldn't, when the moment came, do it myself."
"Even for you, I can't be a murderess," Sanda said miserably, almost apologetically.
"It is thy strange Christian superstition which makes thee call it that. It would be our fate; and thou couldst go away and be happy, feeling thou hadst saved me from life which is worse than death sometimes. Still, if thou wilt not, there is the other thing. Will thou help me to escape?"
"Oh, yes!" cried Sanda.
"Wait till thou hast heard my plan. Maybe thou wilt change thy mind."
"I feel sure I shan't change it."
"But the plan may make thee hate me, and think I am cruel and selfish, caring for no one except myself. Besides, there will be lies to tell; and I know thou dost not like lies, though to me they seem no harm if they are to do good in the end."
"Tell me the plan."