“And if I should—”
“Well, sir.”
“Know, Maümee, that for me to do so would be to risk everything. I might be degraded from my rank—reduced to the condition of a common soldier—disgraced in the eyes of my country—ay, punished, perhaps, by imprisonment worse than that which your brother is likely to endure. All this would I risk by the act.”
The girl paused in her step, but made no reply. “And yet all these chances shall I undergo—ay, the danger of death itself—if you, fair Maümee,”—here the speaker waxed passionate and insinuating—“if you will only consent.”
“Consent—to what, sir?”
“Lovely Maümee, need I tell you? Surely you understand my meaning. You cannot be blind to the love—to the passion—to the deep devotion with which your beauty has inspired me—”
“Consent to what, sir?” demanded she, repeating her former words, and in a soft tone, that seemed to promise compliance. “Only to love me, fair Maümee—to become my mistress.” For some moments, there was no reply. The grand woman seemed immobile as a statue. She did not even start on hearing the foul proposal, but, on the contrary, stood as if turned to stone.
Her silence had an encouraging effect upon the ardent lover; he appeared to take it for assent. He could not have looked into her eye, or he would there have read an expression that would have hindered him from pressing his suit farther. No—he could not have observed that glance, or he would hardly have made such a mistake.
“Only promise it, fair Maümee; your brother shall be free before the morning, and you shall have everything—”
“Villain, villain, villain! Ha, ha! ha, ha! Ha, ha! ha, ha, ha!”