[CHAPTER XXXVII.]
"A WOMAN'S HONOR IS INVOLVED, AND MY SILENCE IS ITS ONLY SAFEGUARD."
"Woman's honor is nice as ermine—
Will not bear a soil."
"Her maiden pride, her haughty name,
My dumb devotion shall not shame;
The love that no return doth crave,
To knightly levels lifts the slave."
When Clifford Standish plunged the dagger into Hawthorne's breast, and heard the groan of the victim, felt the hot blood spurting over his hands as he rolled over in the snow, he thought he had killed him.
But no pang of remorse touched his cruel heart.
He exulted in the deed that he had done.
Springing to his feet, he glanced hurriedly around, and seeing no one near, coolly wiped his bloody hands on Hawthorne's overcoat, and hastened away, exclaiming: