“As I would with anyone who could help me to escape from this vile bondage,” said Humphrey.
“Vile! Who has made it vile?”
“You,” said Humphrey, sternly; “and as if I were not degraded low enough by your base passion and declaration, you come here in the night to insult me by such an insinuation as that.”
There was utter silence for a few moments, and then a quick step forward; and before Humphrey Armstrong could realise the fact, Mary Dell had cast herself down, thrown her arms around him, and laid her cheek against his feet.
“Trample on me and crush me, or kill me,” she moaned. “I am, mad. I did not think it. Humphrey, have pity on me. You do not knew.”
He trembled as she spoke, and clenched his fists tightly; but making an effort over himself, he said coldly—
“You have imprisoned the woman’s lover, and she says he is to die. She came there, as she has come many times before, to plan escape with me and the man I persuaded to be the partner of my flight. For this he is to die.”
“It is the men’s will,” groaned the prostrate woman.
“She has been praying to me to save her lover. I felt I could not ask you; but I do ask. Spare the poor fellow’s life, and set him free.”
“Do you wish it?”