She paused and hesitated, as if afraid that she had said too much; but Caesar urged her with so much vehemence, and so much tenderness, to open to him her whole soul, that, at last, she could not resist his eloquence. She reluctantly revealed to him that secret of which she could not think without horror. She informed him, that unless he complied with what was required of him by the sorceress Esther, he was devoted to die. What it was that Esther required of him, Clara knew not: she knew nothing of the conspiracy. The timidity of her character was ill suited to such a project; and every thing relating to it had been concealed from her with the utmost care.
When she explained to Caesar the cause of her dejection, his natural courage resisted these superstitious fears; and he endeavoured to raise Clara’s spirits. He endeavoured in vain: she fell at his feet; and with tears, and the most tender supplications, conjured him to avert the wrath of the sorceress, by obeying her commands, whatever they might be!
“Clara,” replied he, “you know not what you ask!”
“I ask you to save your life!” said she. “I ask you, for my sake, to save your life, while yet it is in your power!”
“But would you, to save my life, Clara, make me the worst of criminals? Would you make me the murderer of my benefactor?”
Clara started with horror.
“Do you recollect the day, the moment, when we were on the point of being separated for ever, Clara? Do you remember the white man’s coming to my cottage? Do you remember his look of benevolence—his voice of compassion? Do you remember his generosity? Oh! Clara, would you make me the murderer of this man?”
“Heaven forbid!” said Clara. “This cannot be the will of the sorceress!”
“It is,” said Caesar. “But she shall not succeed, even though she speaks with the voice of Clara. Urge me no further; my resolution is fixed. I should be unworthy of your love if I were capable of treachery and ingratitude.”
“But is there no means of averting the wrath of Esther?” said Clara. “Your life—”