“Oh, never you fear me, sir; I will never give Miss Leaton’s enemies the satisfaction of knowing as much as I know,” said Tabitha, firmly.
The young man had addressed himself first to the maid, not only to secure her immediate sympathy and co-operation, but also to afford Miss Leaton time to recover from her surprise, compose her spirits and collect her thoughts.
Now he turned to Eudora, who had been much agitated by the infusion of new hope into her despair, but who now controlling herself, sat quietly, though intently listening, and addressing her with reverential tenderness, he said:
“And now, dearest Eudora, rouse yourself; collect all your energies, and prepare for your immediate flight.”
She looked at him intently for a moment, and then in a faltering voice said:
“But oh, is it right? Ought I, who am as innocent as a child of that which they charge me with, ought I, like a guilty creature, to fly from justice? Think of it well, and then answer me, for I can rely upon your wisdom as well as upon your honor.”
“Eudora,” said the young man in a solemn voice, “it is not from justice that I counsel you to fly, for you are innocent as you say, and the innocent have nothing to fear from justice; if there was a shadow of a hope that you would meet justice, my tongue should be the last to advise, my hand the last to assist your escape. No, Eudora, it is not from justice, but from the cruelest injustice—from murder, from martyrdom that I would snatch you!”
“Yet still think once more. You grant that I am innocent. Conscious of that innocence, ought I not to have courage enough to meet the trial, and faith enough to trust in God for deliverance?” inquired the girl gravely.
“Trust in God, by all means, through all things, and to any extent: but exercise that trust by wisely embracing the means He has provided for your escape rather than by madly remaining to meet swift and certain destruction.”
“But yet—but yet it seems weak and wrong for the innocent to fly like the guilty!” said Eudora, hesitatingly.