“Oh, you are a just man!” cried Milady, throwing herself at his feet. “I can hold out no longer, for I fear I shall be wanting in strength at the moment when I shall be forced to undergo the struggle, and confess my faith. Listen, then, to the supplication of a despairing woman. You are abused, sir; but that is not the question. I only ask you one favor; and if you grant it me, I will bless you in this world and in the next.”
“Speak to the master, Madame,” said Felton; “happily I am neither charged with the power of pardoning nor punishing. It is upon one higher placed than I am that God has laid this responsibility.”
“To you—no, to you alone! Listen to me, rather than add to my destruction, rather than add to my ignominy!”
“If you have merited this shame, Madame, if you have incurred this ignominy, you must submit to it as an offering to God.”
“What do you say? Oh, you do not understand me! When I speak of ignominy, you think I speak of some chastisement, of imprisonment or death. Would to heaven! Of what consequence to me is imprisonment or death?”
“It is I who no longer understand you, Madame,” said Felton.
“Or, rather, who pretend not to understand me, sir!” replied the prisoner, with a smile of incredulity.
“No, Madame, on the honor of a soldier, on the faith of a Christian.”
“What, you are ignorant of Lord de Winter’s designs upon me?”
“I am.”
“Impossible; you are his confidant!”
“I never lie, Madame.”