"Madam," he said, "you are quite right. I will take upon me to answer for my friend. Those two circumstances are connected with each other. That lady that you saw is one very dear, perhaps too dear to my own heart, and now, madam, to answer your question distinctly and closely, without putting him to the pain of saying a word upon a subject which he may think right not even to allude to; I will tell you that if he so choose to act, he could at once prove his innocence to the whole world; that he will be able to do so beyond all doubt, at an after period; but that he could not do so now, without bringing certain destruction upon the heads of two other persons, and committing a great breach of trust. The facts I know from others, revealed to me as a legal adviser, and I put it to him, himself, yesterday, with full permission to do so, whether he would break the trust reposed in him, and save his life at the expense of others; or run the risk--the imminent risk of death. Madam, he chose like Charles Tyrrell, and to those who know him, that is enough."
"I thought so, I was sure of it," cried Mrs. Effingham, while Lucy gazed up in the face of her lover with her eyes dimmed with tears.
"And you must be the sacrifice!" continued Mrs. Effingham, after a pause, gazing upon Charles with feelings of deep interest and compassion. "You must be the sacrifice to your own noble and kindly heart. Would to God that you were married to Lucy, that she might go with you, and be your consolation and your comfort."
Charles Tyrrell took Mrs. Effingham's hands in his, and gazed into her face for a moment.
"I fear I am very selfish," he said at length, "for I am so tempted to ask you to let her go with me, that though I know you require comfort too, I can scarcely refrain."
"But Charles, Charles," exclaimed Mrs. Effingham, pale and very much agitated, "she is not yet your wife. She considers herself as much bound to you as if she were. I know she does--I have always taught her to do so. She will never be any other's but yours. She shall be yours whenever you claim her."
"Oh, dear Mrs. Effingham," said Charles, "that it were so, indeed! and not merely in name. I would claim her now--even now. But I know I am acting selfishly. I know I am acting wrongly. I should be exposing her to peril, and dangers, and discomforts, and it is better that I should go now at once, and leave love, and hope, and happiness in my native land behind me. It is better that I should go," and he dropped the hand that he held in his.
"But, Lucy," said Mrs. Effingham, turning to her daughter, "have you thought of this?--Have you heard of this? What do you say, my child, for my brain is bewildered, and I scarcely know what I am doing."
"I say, my dear mother," she replied earnestly, "that there is but one thing on earth that would stop me from going with him; neither perils, nor dangers, nor discomforts, nor, if it must be so, the sorrows of a life itself."
"What then?" demanded Mrs. Effingham.