"Clif," she said, "you know what I mean. You must let me marry this officer."
Clif had known, and so he did not move when he heard those awful words. He sat perfectly motionless, almost frozen; he felt the girl's hand turn cold in his.
The carriage rolled on, and for at least one long, long minute there was not a sound. The girl was listening, trembling again; and Clif, half dazed was thinking to himself, thinking again and again of that death knell, "You must let me marry this officer."
And it was true. Clif knew it. It was his duty; and the feeling lingered in his mind that if he had half the heroism of that Spaniard he would have said so long ago.
At last he spoke. His mouth was dry and his voice husky, but he forced the words out.
And they were the right ones.
"Yes," said he, "you must marry him. And we must never meet again."
And then once more came the terrible silence. Bessie Stuart heard him choke down a sob; and her heart was ready to break.
For this cadet was the dearest friend she had. She had been through terrible dangers with him, coming to love him more every day, as she saw the brave man's daring. And no one could ever know now how she felt toward him.
But there was her duty; and though she was nearly ready to faint, she sat perfectly motionless by his side.