"Did you think to be of service to me?" he burst out, as she drew near and then paused irresolute, miserable. "You have ruined me for life! I begged that detail. I volunteered. I must get out! They may wait for me. It may not be too late. For God's sake unlock that door!"
She shook her head, she could not trust herself to speak.
"I don't understand you. If it is—love—for me—"
She stared at him beseechingly, mute appeal for mercy, for help, in her lovely eyes.
"You are condemning me to death, to worse than death. I am going!"
"You cannot!"
She came nearer as she spoke. Suddenly he seized her, drew her close to him, held her with his left arm, and there was happiness for her in his touch. She was as a child before his strength. With his right hand he presented his pistol to her temple. He took advantage of her weakness, but only in the service of a higher cause than love of woman, in answer to a greater demand than even she could make. She offered no resistance either. What was the use?
"Boys!" he called out sharply. "Are you there?"
"Yas, suh," answered Cato.
"I have your mistress in my arms, my pistol is at her head. If you do not instantly open the door, I shall kill her where I stand!"