“And willingly,” I answered firmly.
Again he leant forward and bent his eyes upon me. I trust in that moment that I bore myself as a gentleman should.
“A pen here,” he said abruptly, pointing to some writing materials that stood upon an oaken cabinet near.
The Dutch officer who had accompanied him stepped forward and laid them before him. After writing a few lines in a silence unbroken in the room save for the scratching of the pen, he raised his head.
“Colonel Zulestein,” he said curtly, “you will see to the carrying out of this sentence, for which this shall be your warrant.” And he held the paper out to him.
Ere the latter could take it, however, my lady, who had drawn gradually nearer to the table while he had been writing, snatched the paper from his hand. But no sooner had her eyes fallen upon what was written there than a cry of pain escaped her lips.
“To be shot!” she cried wildly. “To be shot at dawn!” She swayed so violently that I took a step or two forward to assist her. Even the general had risen to his feet at sight of her distress.
“Madam, I would have spared you this had I but known,” he said quickly. “But my duty is imperative.”
She did not answer him—she did not even seem to hear. Only for a moment she raised her hands to her brow and a single sob broke the silence of the room. Then she turned and came towards me. And I? I awaited her approach, my hands clenched, my knees trembling. Within a pace of me she stopped, and her eyes, wide and fear-stricken, seemed to read my inmost thoughts.
“When,” she said at length in a low, strained voice, “you did this for me you knew?”