“And if you die her brother’s infamy will become known,” she replied. “Public inquiry will follow, and all she wishes kept secret will be exposed with the added guilt of your death upon it.”
He did not answer, and she remained silent for a few moments, with her soul wildly stirred.
“Oh, Lemuel Atkins,” she exclaimed at length, “if you only knew the harm you have done us!”
“Pity him, Muriel,” answered Harrington. “Both he and Lafitte are the cause of this disaster. Let us pity and forgive them. They are the victims, and not we.”
“I do,” she responded, clasping her hands; “I pity and forgive them.”
“It only remains for me to decide,” he said, after a pause. “If I go to-night I feel I shall save Antony. But I think it will not be done without a struggle, and I shall be killed. On the other hand is your mother’s grief, and all the consequences of my death, and if I stay these will be spared.”
“What do you decide?” she said, quickly.
“Muriel,” said he, tenderly, “I have not spoken once of what you lose in losing me, for I know your nobleness, my wife, and I know that you can resign me to duty.”
She flung her arms around him, her eyes glowing and her features kindling into flushed and exalted loveliness.
“Do not think of me,” she said in a clear and fervent voice. “Oh, my husband, we were wedded in love for liberty, in love for all mankind, and we cannot be divided. Think alone of duty—for death can only separate us a little while, and we are wedded in love forever.”