"He is not so awful as he thinks," I said encouragingly.
She shook her head, and moved away. I followed her. "If I might suggest, I would advise you to take a rest," I said. "You have had a most trying night."
"Yes—I will rest," she returned with a sigh; and then, as we walked down the corridor together, "I thought you were right when you spoke to—to my brother in regard to the revolver; but now I don't know. I think anything that would rid the world of such a monster is justifiable."
"Perhaps," I replied. "But he is making war, and we are on terms of war, and more or less bound by them. At least, that is one's general notion. But who can tell? The ethical boundaries, and the borders of honour, are indefinable and intangible."
"I think I would have shot him myself," she said vehemently.
"I hope we shall hang him yet," I answered.
She looked at me out of her blue lustrous eyes, as if deliberating.
"We depend a good deal on you, Dr. Phillimore," she said next.
"We are all dependent on one another," said I.
"Do you suppose that man meant what he said?" she asked.