“Yes!” she repeated, her eyes flashing, her lips trembling. “I am only a woman, but I will do what you would have done in my place—save my friend even in spite of himself!”
He grasped her arm, his face white and set, his eyes full of a terrible fear.
“If any words of mine, if any entreaty can stop you in this course——Believe me—believe me—it would be useless. The evidence is conclusive. No jury in England could fail to find me guilty. No one can stretch out a hand to save me——”
“Excepting yourself!” she said.
He turned away, and laid his hand upon the door.
“And you will not?”
“And I—cannot!” he responded. “Go now—every moment——”
He put out his hand to her, and she took it in hers and held it for a moment, her tearless eyes fixed on his, as if she hoped even against hope, at that last moment, to see some signs of yielding; but his eyes met hers with the sad firmness and resignation they had worn all through.
“Good-by—God bless you—the best and sweetest and truest——” His voice broke; the warder opened the door, and Faradeane, seeing Bessie standing in the corridor, beckoned to her. “Bessie!” and he held out his hand with a faint smile. “Take care of her! She looks so ill—and weak. Take care of her—and never let her come here again! Good-by—don’t cry, Bessie.”
“Now, ladies, please!” said the warder, respectfully, but firmly.