“You have no money coming in on which you can rely?”

“None.”

“You have exhausted every resource?”

“All.”

“And in half an hour,” said Maximilian in a gloomy voice, “our name is dishonored!”

“Blood washes out dishonor,” said Morrel.

“You are right, father; I understand you.” Then extending his hand towards one of the pistols, he said, “There is one for you and one for me⁠—thanks!”

Morrel caught his hand. “Your mother⁠—your sister! Who will support them?”

A shudder ran through the young man’s frame. “Father,” he said, “do you reflect that you are bidding me to live?”