"The battle which will take place to-night yonder between those ships decides my fate. I hope to God I may arrive in time to take my part in it! The Richard is fearfully short of officers at best; Landais, who has the Alliance, is crazy and a coward; Cottineau in the Pallas is an unknown quantity, and the rest have fled. Jones has only Richard Dale and a lot of midshipmen with him upon whom he can absolutely depend, and there are over two hundred prisoners in the hold. He needs me. If this breeze hold on, I think we may intercept the Richard before the battle is joined. Pray, dearest, as never before, for the success of our arms! It means life, and you, for me."
"It means life for me as well," she answered, nestling against him and nerving herself up to the inevitable confession. How he would take it she did not know, or rather she would not permit herself to say. She was conscious only of an impelling necessity to tell him the whole story, though she had deliberately waited until she believed he could do nothing.
"Ah, yes, 'tis sweet of you to say so, but not the same. Me they will hang, but not you," he answered fondly.
"Yes, they will," she replied. "I--I--I must confess it to you before we go further; it weighs upon me. I also am guilty."
"Guilty! You! Of what, pray? Of loving me too much?" he queried, laughing in pure lightness of heart.
"No, not that," she answered, "but that--that order--your reprieve. It was--the admiral did not sign it," she added desperately.
The secret was out.
"And who did it, then?" he asked, still unsuspicious of her meaning.
"I did it myself," she answered, with averted head.
"It is not possible!" he exclaimed, withdrawing from her a little in his astonishment.