She answered.
“Think! Thy doom may be to die
By thine own hand, with none to fathom why,
Unthanked, unhonored, desolate, alone,
Thy grave unmarked, thy toil, thy love unknown,
And none in days to come shall speak thy name.”
She said: “I ask no pity, thanks or fame.”
“Art thou prepared for crime?”
She bowed her head:
“Yes, crime, if that shall need,” the maiden said.