“It is impossible,” he answered. “Escape from this guarded place, through those leagues of melting snow? I tell you that it is impossible.”
“Then,” and her eyes grew wild, “then kill him and free me. He is a devil, he is your evil genius; it would be a righteous deed. Kill him and free me.”
“I should like to,” answered Adrian; “I nearly did once, but, for my soul’s sake, I can’t put a sword through my own father; it is the most horrible of crimes. When I confessed——”
“Then,” she broke in, “if this farce, this infamy must be gone through, swear at least that you will treat it as such, that you will respect me.”
“It is a hard thing to ask of a husband who loves you more than any woman in the world,” he answered turning aside his head.
“Remember,” she went on, with another flash of defiant spirit, “that if you do not, you will soon love me better than any woman out of the world, or perhaps we shall both settle what lies between us before the Judgment Seat of God. Will you swear?”
He hesitated.
Oh! she reflected, what if he should answer—“Rather than this I hand you over to Ramiro”? What if he should think of that argument? Happily for her, at the moment he did not.
“Swear,” she implored, “swear,” clinging with her hands to the lappet of his coat and lifting to him her white and piteous face.
“I make it an offering in expiation of my sins,” he groaned, “you shall go free of me.”