“Of course it is terrible to a lady to be the cause of bloodshed,” said Dudleigh, quietly, “and if there were any other way I would find it out, or you would know about it. But from what I have seen and heard, and from what I know of Wiggins, I see that there is nothing left but to force our way out, for the place is thoroughly guarded day and night.”
“So it is,” said Edith, mournfully.
“If I take you out, I must—Are we overheard?” he asked, looking cautiously around.
“I think not; at least not if you speak low.”
“I must use these, then,” said he, drawing a brace of pistols in a careless way from his coat pocket, and showing them to Edith.
Edith recoiled involuntarily. Bloodshed, and perhaps death, the scandal that would arise, arrest perhaps, or examination before magistrates—all these thoughts came before her. She was brave, but things like these could not be lightly faced. She was brave, but she could not decide just yet that any man's life should be taken for the sake of her liberty.
“I can not bear that,” said she.
“You will get used to them,” said Dudleigh, cheerfully. “They are easy to handle.”
“Put them back.”
“But what else is there to do?”