He walked away as he finished speaking, and Lynde took the chair beside Evelyn's bed. Her eyes opened almost at once.
"He said that I should not die," she said slowly, and with great difficulty of articulation, "but he lied! I will die. When a woman is determined upon a thing like that, there are not men enough in the world to prevent it."
"You must not say that, dear," exclaimed Lynde, gently. "He only wants to save your life for your own good. I think I have succeeded in securing bail for you, and you must get well now in order that we can determine what is best to do for you."
"From whom did you get it?" she stammered, faintly.
"From—your sister, whose deepest sympathy you have."
"Leonie?"
The word was a gasp, the expression of the countenance set with horror.
"Yes," he answered.
"Never!" she cried, as vehemently as the circumstances would allow. "Do you think I would owe my liberty to her? Not if I died like a dog, as I shall! You have all forsaken me and lied to me. You who pretended that you would protect me above every one upon earth. Do you think I did not know that you were not trying to get bail for me? You thought that you could deceive me until you succeeded in having me sentenced to the penitentiary, and then you would do as you liked. You would leave me and marry her. Well, I decided that I would not go there. I knew that there was but one way to save myself from it, and I took that means. That old fool told you just now that I should get well. I tell you that I shall not, and you and my dear sister"—with a disfiguring sneer—"may look upon yourselves as my murderers! Why did she not come here with you? I want to tell her before I die the price that she has paid for her husband."
"Evelyn, for God's sake think what you are saying! You know that Leonie is not guilty of your horrible charge!"