“I'm sure I don't know,” said Edith, in a dejected tone.
“Well,” said Dudleigh, after a pause, “I thought of this. It is natural. I anticipated some such objection as this on your part. I know very well what it is that you fear, and I don't know but that you are right. Still, I have other plans, which may not appear so objectionable. But in the first place, let me know finally, do you positively and absolutely reject this?” and he tapped the pistols significantly.
“I can not yet consent to risk any life,” said Edith.
“Very well; this may remain over until every thing else fails.”
“But couldn't you use these pistols to terrify them? The sight might make them open the gates.”
“But it might not, and what then? Are you prepared to answer that?” And “Little Dudleigh,” who had been speaking about these things as lightly and as carelessly as a lady would speak about a dress or the trimmings of a bonnet, paused, and looked at her inquiringly. “The fact is,” he continued, as Edith did not answer, “you must be willing to run the risk of killing a man. Your liberty is worth this price. If you say to me, 'Open those gates,' that is what you must encounter. Will you face it? Say the word, and now, now, at this very moment, I will lead you there.”
The offer of immediate escape was thus presented, and for a moment Edith hesitated, but the cost was too great.
“Oh,” she cried, “this is terrible! But I will not consent. No, I will suffer longer rather than pay so frightful a price as human life.”
“Well,” said Dudleigh, “after all, since you have decided this way, I think you are about right. After all, there is really no necessity for so desperate a course. But I have a high idea of what a lady has a right to demand of a gentleman, and I am ready to do what you say.”
“But you have other plans, have you not?”