"To the world's end," answered the beautiful girl, clasping her hands and blushing crimson with the violence of her own emotions. "To the world's end, if you will not forgive me."
"Now will you be so kind as to issue your orders to your men, lieutenant, and you, madam, to make your preparations for a ride which may extend through the night until day-break to-morrow?"
He spoke so decidedly that there was no excuse for attempting to prolong the conversation, and Gordon left the little tent immediately in order to give his directions, while the Partisan lifted his rifle from the ground where he had deposited it on entering, and turned to follow the young officer without saying another word.
But ere he had reached the entrance, Julia, who had been standing with down-cast eyes and a strange expression, half sad, half passionate on her beautiful features, sprang forward to intercept him, and again caught him by the arm.
"What have I done," she cried, passionately, "what have I done that you thus spurn me—thus despise me?"
"I, lady!" and he gazed at her in blank astonishment; "I despise you?"
"Yes, yes, miserable me, and I deserve it all, aye, more than all. Oh, God! oh, God! I shall go mad. What shall I do to win your forgiveness?"
"I have said, madam," he replied, mastering himself and retaining his self-composure with a mighty effort, "that I had nothing to forgive. But now it is my turn to ask," and his voice assumed a deeper tone of feeling, and his whole manner showed an intenser meaning, "will you spare me? You know what I mean, lady—all women know their power, and, I suppose, all abuse it. But as I have endeavoured to serve you truly, as I intend to do to the end—as I am resolved to die for you—will you spare me, I say? Spare me my self-respect, my consciousness of right, nay manhood, my repose of soul, my honour. If you will, lady, I forgive, I bless you. If not—if not, tremble, I say, tremble, not at the thought of my vengeance, but of your own remorse. Think of this, lady, and fare you well. We speak no more alone together—no more, forever!"
And he flung her hand, which he had held tightly clasped in his own while he spoke, away from him contemptuously, half indignantly, turned on his heel and left her.
She gazed on him for a moment wistfully, and then sank down upon the bearskin on which he had been sitting, buried her face in the fur, and wept bitterly, as might be seen from the convulsive sobs which shook her whole frame as she lay prostrate in her desperate sorrow.