While he spoke the governor listened with downcast eyes, and at the end of his speech answered nothing.
“What have you to say to this? Will you take the money, and save her?” demanded Malcolm, impatiently.
“Mr. Montrose, I repeat, without taking one penny of that money, I would gladly save her if I could do so honestly; but to lend my countenance to the plan you propose, or any plan for a prisoner’s escape, would be a grave breach of trust.”
“A justifiable one, if ever such existed,” exclaimed Malcolm, earnestly.
“Yes, if ever such existed; but no breach of trust ever could be justifiable, Mr. Montrose.”
“Not even to save an innocent girl from a horrible death?”
“No, sir, not even for that. But, indeed, I do not know that she is innocent, poor girl, and even if I did, it would not be my place to set judge, jury, and sheriff right by opening the doors and letting a convicted prisoner walk freely out of gaol!” said the governor, trying to speak sternly, though his honest face paled, flushed, and quivered with emotion, and he was again obliged to rise and walk rapidly up and down the floor.
Malcolm watched him closely, and perceived, notwithstanding the decisiveness of his words, that he was undergoing a severe conflict between duty and inclination, and that his temptation came not from greed of gain, but from pity for Eudora.
Malcolm let him walk up and down for some time in silence, and then, as he saw the struggle still going on in his mind, arose and joined him.
And as they paced side by side, Malcolm said: