"'Tis a bold scheme, Bobby, and I thank thee. But why should I go? Life holds naught so precious for me, that I should cling to it so strongly. There is nothing for me beyond the seas, in that strange and barbarous land, with its painted savages and fierce beasts of prey. What could I do, should I reach it alive? No, leave me to my fate—and go!"
"Thomas!" he cried, "if thou carest not for thyself, think of thy friends. Spare me this last blow—spare me, or I shall go mad! Think of Margaret, and for her sake go," and he stretched out his hands imploringly to me.
Silence reigned in the little room. I was thinking of her; what would she care? Why should I go out into a strange and unknown land to begin life anew, with no one besides me save only the Indians and wild beasts; to drag out a few miserable years of pain and sorrow. A life such as this was not worth the effort—no, the game was not worth the candle.
"Thou dost not know what thou askest of me," I replied finally. "What would a life such as this mean? It would be a living death. Better one quick leap and then forgetfulness and oblivion. As for Margaret, why should she care?"
"Thou art mad," he replied, "that thou talkest thus. It will be only for a few months among new scenes and men; 'twill be a diversion for thy mind. As for my lady, thou hast no right to speak thus. Thou dost not know how much she cares; in truth, as I led her home she wept as though her heart would break, and she implored me to save thee as I left her."
"And so thou dost beseech me to leave England, so that I may be out of the way," I answered bitterly.
"Thomas!" he cried reproachfully, "I have not deserved this at thy hands—as God is my witness, I have not. I have ever loved thee as a brother, and there has been no time when I would not have given my life to have saved thee, and yet thou reproachest me thus. Truly those we love most are the first to turn their backs upon us."
"Forgive me, Bobby!" I cried penitently. "My grief has almost turned my brain, and I know not what I say. I did not mean to offend thee, and would beg thy pardon."
"Then go," he answered, pacing the floor in his excitement. "A few more minutes and the watch will be changed, and 'twill be too late. Come! for my sake if thou lovest me; for Margaret's sake; for the sake of thy old friends, whom thou didst once know and cherish." And he turned to me with a look of entreaty upon his face.