They had one night in which to prepare for death. Overcome as they were with horror and fatigue, they took their last meal together.
“We shall need all our strength,” Glenarvan had said, “to look death in the face. We must show these savages how Europeans can die.”
The meal ended. Lady Helena repeated the evening prayer aloud, her companions, bare-headed, repeated it after her. Who does not turn his thoughts toward God in the hour of death? This done, the prisoners embraced each other. Mary Grant and Helena, in a corner of the hut, lay down on a mat. Sleep, which keeps all sorrow in abeyance, soon weighed down their eyelids; they slept in each other’s arms, overcome by exhaustion and prolonged watching.
Then Glenarvan, taking his friends aside, said: “My dear friends, our lives and the lives of these poor women are in God’s hands. If it is decreed that we die to-morrow, let us die bravely, like Christian men, ready to appear without terror before the Supreme Judge. God, who reads our hearts, knows that we had a noble end in view. If death awaits us instead of success, it is by His will. Stern as the decree may seem, I will not repine. But death here, means not death only, it means torture, insult, perhaps, and here are two ladies—”
Glenarvan’s voice, firm till now, faltered. He was silent a moment, and having overcome his emotion, he said, addressing the young captain:
“John, you have promised Mary what I promised Lady Helena. What is your plan?”
“I believe,” said John, “that in the sight of God I have a right to fulfill that promise.”
“Yes, John; but we are unarmed.”
“No!” replied John, showing him a dagger. “I snatched it from Kara-Tete when he fell at your feet. My Lord, whichever of us survives the other will fulfill the wish of Lady Helena and Mary Grant.”
After these words were said, a profound silence ensued. At last the Major said: “My friends, keep that to the last moment. I am not an advocate of irremediable measures.”