“And what else?”
“She gave to her innocent soul to understand what a mistress was. She taunted her and jeered at her. She had her at her mercy.”
“When did you learn this?”
“This morning, from Stellamaris herself. I told her the whole truth from beginning to end, but, God help her! her soul is so poisoned that she does n't know whether to believe the woman or me.”
“If he knew that—if he knew that,” said Unity, slowly, “he would murder her.”
“Would to God she were murdered!” cried Herold in a shrill voice. “Would to God she were dead! She should be killed outright like a wild beast. But not by him, oh, not by him! It would be whirling catastrophe and chaos.” He walked wildly and uttered senseless things. Then he halted. “But why should he know? Why should she tell him? Why should she invite her own destruction? No, she can't have told him.” He took her by her shoulders. “Unity, he must never know. He would kill her. It's a hanging matter. It's unthinkable. Swear you will never tell him.”
“I 'll never tell him,” said Unity.
“He must be saved,” continued Herold, on the same note, his sensitive face pinched and his eyes eager. “And she must be saved. All this is killing them both--both of those who matter all the world to you and me. This thing of infamy is standing between them and blasting their lives. She will live, and they will be destroyed.”
“If she were dead, would they come together?” asked Unity.
“Why not? What's to prevent them? Time and love would clear up clouds. But she—the unutterable—she will live. She will work in the dark, as she did that night when she stabbed you.”