“Inevitably.”
A shudder ran through her, and she covered her face with her hands. When she withdrew then Tremayne beheld the lovely countenance transformed. It was white and drawn.
“But surely Terence can save him!” she cried piteously.
He shook his head, his lips tight pressed. “‘There is no man less able to do so.”
“What do you mean? Why do you say that?”
He looked at her, hesitating for a moment, then answered her: “‘O’Moy has pledged his word to the Portuguese Government that Dick Butler shall be shot when taken.”
“Terence did that?”
“He was compelled to it. Honour and duty demanded no less of him. I alone, who was present and witnessed the undertaking, know what it cost him and what he suffered. But he was forced to sink all private considerations. It was a sacrifice rendered necessary, inevitable for the success of this campaign.” And he proceeded to explain to her all the circumstances that were interwoven with Lieutenant Butler’s ill-timed offence. “Thus you see that from Terence you can hope for nothing. His honour will not admit of his wavering in this matter.”
“Honour?” She uttered the word almost with contempt. “And what of Una?”
“I was thinking of Una when I said I should welcome the news of Dick’s death somewhere in the hills. It is the best that can be hoped for.”