"I know what he would have done in that case," the other answered with conviction. "He would have gone back to his twenty years of hell. He would have gone back to fifty years of hell, if need be, rather than buy his freedom at such a price."
The girl leaned forward, eagerly; "And suppose--suppose--that after the convict had done his master's bidding--suppose that after he had taken the girl away from her friends--suppose, then, the man would not marry her?"
For a moment there was no sound in the little room, save the crackling of the fire in the fire-place, and the sound of a stick that had burned in two, falling in the ashes.
"What would the convict do if the man would not marry the girl?" persisted Sibyl.
Her companion spoke with the solemnity of a judge passing sentence; "If the man violated his word--if he lied to the convict--if his purpose toward the girl was anything less than an honorable marriage--if he refused to keep his promise after the convict had done his part--he would die, Miss Andrés. The convict would kill his benefactor--as surely as there is a just God who, alone, can say what is right and what is wrong."
The girl uttered a low cry.
The man did not seem to notice. "But the man will do as he promised, Miss Andrés. He wishes to make the girl his wife. He can give her all that women, these days, seem to desire in marriage. In the eyes of the world, she would be envied by thousands. And the convict would gain freedom and the right to live an honorable life--the right to earn his bread by doing an honest man's work. Freedom and a life of honorable service, at the price; or hell, with only the memory of a good deed--which should he choose, Miss Andrés? The convict is past deciding for himself."
The troubled answer came out of the honesty of the girl's heart; "Mr. Marston, I do not know."
A moment, the man on the other side of the fireplace waited. Then, rising, he quietly left the cabin. The girl did not know that he was gone, until she heard the door close.