"Yes, curses on the head of that monk Gennadius, who sends insult to our allies every day from his cell!" muttered Constantine. "But I cannot see you in danger, Morsinia. Promise me—for your life is dearer to me than my own—that you will not go upon the walls. I need not the solemn oath to our brave Castriot, and that to our father Kabilovitsch, that I will guard you. But, if not for my sake, then for their sake, take my counsel. I know that you are under the special care of the Blessed Jesu. Has He not shielded us both—me for your sake—many times before?"
"Your words are wise, my brother. You need not urge the will of Castriot and father Kabilovitsch, for your own wish is to me as sacred as that of any one on earth," said she, looking him in the eyes with the reverence of affection, and yielding to his embrace as he kissed her forehead.
"But," added she, "I must exact of you one promise."
"Any thing, my darling, that is consistent with your safety," was the quick reply.
"It is this. Promise me, by the Virgin Mother of God, that you will not allow me to become a living captive to the Turk."
"Not if my life can shield you. This you know!"
"Yes, I would not ask that, but something harder than that you should die for me."
A pallor spread over the face of Constantine, for he suspected her meaning, yet asked, "And what—what may that be?"
"Take my life with your own hand, rather than that a Turk should touch me," said Morsinia, without the slightest tremor in her voice.
Constantine stood aghast. Morsinia continued, taking his strong right hand in hers, and raising it to her lips—