The minutes were flying by. He must tell her. Her head was on his shoulder, her hands were in his,—hands so delicate that one of his held both. He remembered how their smallness had touched him, long ago.
"I ha' ta'en ye by rough ways, an' ye'll ha' a hard time; though I meant to shelter ye all I could." The pain in his voice made her cling closer to him.
"It is my turn to say to you, 'It is worth while,'" she whispered. "What does it matter now how rough the road is? we will tread it together."
"But, if we are not together? My little lass, if we are not together? Will ye say that then? It is true! Ay—God help me—I believe it; but will ye think so too?"
"Whatever comes now, I will think so too!" said Margaret. She smiled as she spoke, ominous though his words were. She forgot to be afraid, in her womanly longing to comfort him.
"What do you think is coming? Do you fancy that the verdict will go against you?" she asked steadily. "But that cannot be! Would He desert you?"
"No," said Barnabas. "Not though the sky should fall, or I forget ye." And he put the last as the more impossible marvel of the two.
"But there's no want o' faith in believing that one may ha' to leave one's body behind a bit afore the natural time. I've som'ut to tell ye, Margaret. It's best to face it. I'd liefer ye heard it now, than to-morrow i' th' court."
"Go on," said Meg. And with his arms round her he told her. Meg listened silently when he described his interview with his enemy. "He must ha' overhauled my things somehow, though I doan't know how he got hold on 'em," he said. "Ye see that must go against me. I can't explain it." He spoke steadily, and not despairingly,—he had conquered his despair. The fight had been fought; the "black minute" was at an end for him. It might be hard,—harder than the actual wrench of parting soul and body would be,—to part from her; but he could do it now. To relinquish Meg unwon had indeed taxed severely the fortitude of the man who had once told her that he desired no peace in heaven, unless she were happy too; but this love, awake at last, he believed to be his now to all eternity; and, indeed, with an "all eternity" in view, they might well afford to lose a few score years.
"I don't understand," said Meg, in a voice she tried to keep from trembling. "Mr. Sauls found the diamonds in your cap. Ah, I let that drop with the other things I was bringing you, and he must have picked it up. He saved me too. One would rather not be saved by such a—oh well, it isn't worth while to think of him with you beside me; but how did the diamonds get there?"