stood face to face with difficulty. Far different her condition. Her husband had just fallen in his brave attempt to appeal to the men, but in the terror of the present there was no room for that sorrow in her mind. Life or death? Life, was to fall alive into the rebels’ hands; Death, was to die unforgiven by those she had wronged most.
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(See page 181.)
“Markham, have you any ammunition left?”
“We must give up all hopes of resistance against numbers,” he replied quietly.
“But the ammunition?”
“Only one barrel loaded! If more than three attack us I have determined to throw the pistol away. Perhaps I should act differently were I alone; but it would only exasperate them against you.”
“One barrel loaded!” she murmured—then was silent. A terrible resolution was forming in her mind.
She looked steadfastly at him. “Is there any hope of escape, Markham?”
“Very little hope, if we are pursued.”
“How calm you are, Markham—I’m—”
“Do you think my life has been so very happy, Pauline, that I should be quite unnerved by the approach of death?”
“Does that old affection for my sister linger yet? I fancied you were so ambitious”
“It formed the very base of my ambition. I have worked since, because there is a sense of power in me which urges me on, but I have worked careless of reward and honour.”
“Can you forgive her, Markham?”
“I have forgiven her since I entered this hut.”
“Oh! Markham, at this last hour, can you forgive me also?” She flung herself at his feet. “I induced her to marry that man.”
“You had every right, as her sister, fairly to advise. The blame was hers in yielding.”
“Markham, the blame was mine—I deceived her—kill me, but I must speak now. I was horribly tempted. Our family was very poor for the station we held. That rich man loved her, and if she married him it opened a path of affluence to us all. And you were poor and unknown then. My father was fearfully involved—but God forbid! I should try to hide my guilt. I was cursed with the thirst for affluence and worldly position.”
“But those letters I wrote her—they were placed in a secret spot known to us alone.”
“Markham—I tracked her there—Oh, mercy!—”
An exulting yell outside showed that the pursuers had discovered the buggy and dead horse.
She fell back terror-stricken, but he drew her forward, holding her in the grasp of a vice.
“Quick with your confession!”
“I took the letters away one by one—we urged her to consent to the addresses of Mr. Manson—”
“Well?”
“But she refused steadfastly. At last she did find a letter there—”
