"
Helen caught his meaning first, and flashed it whitely to her
lover. It dawned on him more slowly.
"I see y'u remember, Miss Messiter," he continued, with a cruel,
silken laugh. "He gave me his parole to go with me whenever I
said the word. I'm saying it now." He sat down astride a chair,
put his chin on the back cross-bar, and grinned malevolently from
one to another.
"What's come over this happy family? It don't look so joyous all
of a sudden. Y'u don't need to worry, ma'am, I'll send him back
to y'u all right--alive or dead. With his shield or on it, y'u
know. Ha! ha!"
"You will not go with him?" It was wrung from Helen as a low cry,
and struck her lover's heart.
"I must," he answered. "I gave him my word, y'u remember."
"But why keep it? You know what he is, how absolutely devoid of
honor."
"That is not quite the question, is it?" he smiled.
"Would he keep his word to you?"
"Not if a lie would do as well. But that isn't the point,
either."
"It's quixotic--foolish--worse than that--ridiculous," she
implored.
"Perhaps, but the fact remains that I am pledged."
"'I could not love thee, dear, so much
Loved I not honor more,'"
murmured the villain in the chair, apparently to the ceiling.
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