“It could not have done so. No; they would not admit me yesterday, and they will not to-day. They say that so many visits disturb the prisoner’s mind, and draw off her thoughts from the duty of preparing for death. They say that from this time no one is to see her, except the officers of justice, the ministers of the Gospel, and yourself, as her nearest living relative!” answered Annella.
“They say—who say, my dear child?”
“Why, the sheriff and the gaoler, and even the chaplain, who stood my friend at first, but who now says that my daily visits will do the prisoner more harm than good.”
“This will interfere with your hopes of saving Eudora,” said Malcolm, only with the view of drawing her out; “for, of course, if you are not permitted to see her, you can do nothing for her?”
“Yes I can! besides, I shall see her once more. The sheriff promised that, to get rid of me, I am to be allowed one parting interview with her the day before she is to die—‘To die!’ as if he thought I was going to let her die!” exclaimed Annella, feverishly, while the crimson spots in her hollow cheeks burned more brightly, and the smoldering fire in her sunken eyes flashed more fiercely.
“What are your plans, Annella?” inquired Malcolm, with as much calmness as he could assume, secretly hoping that she might have forgotten her former refusal to confide in him, and would now, as a matter of course, inform him.
But Annella had a good memory and a firm will. She replied:
“I repeat that I will not tell you! I will not tell any one! I will act alone! If my act be a felony, my person only shall pay for it! If it be a sin, my soul only shall answer for it! If the plan fail—as it shall not—I only will bear the blame! If it succeed—as it shall—you only shall gain the honor!”
“The honor, from whom?”
“From Eudora, of course, for saving her life! from no one else, for none but her, you, and myself shall ever know that she is saved! All else shall believe that she has perished!”