The guilty man started at the change in that voice. Again he saw Menotah in the full sunshine, flitting along by the high cliff of the Saskatchewan, with bright song and laughter.
'There is still one chance left.'
Lamont could not move. He was divided between paralysing dread and suspicious perplexity. But she came towards him. He shrank from the knife with the brown stained point. Fearlessly she took him by the arm, then compelled him across the room.
'See!' Her voice was low and fervent. 'You may yet escape, with this knife to aid you. Make for the bush on the river's opposite bank. There you will be safe.'
There was a trembling pity in every motion, while her limbs shook with weakness. Upon her he turned his dazed eyes. Then he saw that her cheeks were burning, as though with fever, that the look on her face was wild and cunning.
'Let me go for my rifle,' he said.
'You cannot. They will see you. Go! For the love you bore me once—escape.'
Marie passionately intervened. 'You have jested with him enough. Take care, or he will snatch the knife from you.'
'Jesting!' cried Menotah, piteously. 'Ah, no. I am the coward now. I loved him. I gave him my heart and wrapped my soul round his life. Now I am called to avenge. I cannot. I cannot. The pain has returned—back to my heart. I thought the flame dead and cold. But it has sprung up again. It lives! It lives!'
She sprang at Lamont, and hung to him with an embrace. 'There is still time. Go! Go!'