oo terrible; besides I had faith in the
promises of De Tonty, in the daring of Boisrondet. I would trust them,
aye, and myself, to find some other way of rescue.

"Monsieur," I said firmly, "I understand your proposition, and refuse
it. I will make no pledge."

"You leave him to die?"

"If it be God's will. I cannot dishonor myself, even to save life. You
have my answer. I bid you go."

Never did I see such look of beastly rage in the face of any man. He
had lost power of speech, but his fingers clutched as though he had my
throat in their grip. Frightened, I stepped back, and Chevet's pistol
gleamed in my hand.

"You hear me, Monsieur--go!"

CHAPTER XXX

I CHOOSE MY FUTURE

He backed out the door, growling and threatening. I caught little of
what he said, nor did I in the least care. All I asked, or desired,
was to be alone, to be free of his presence. I swung the door in his
very face, and fastened the bar. Through the thick wood his voice
still penetrated in words of hatred. Then it ceased, and I was alone
in the silence, sinking down nerveless beside the table, my face
buried in my hands.

I had done right; I knew I had done right, yet the reaction left me
weak and pulseless. I saw now clearly what must be done. Never could I
live with this Cassion; never again could I acknowledge him as
husband. Right or wrong, whatever the Church might do, or the world
might say, I had come to the parting of the ways; here and now I must
choose my own life, obey the dictates of my own conscience. I had been
wedded by fraud to a man I despised; my hatred had grown until now I
knew that I would rather be dead than live in his presence.

If this state of mind was sin, it was beyond my power to rid myself of
the curse; if I was already condemned of Holy Church because of
failure to abide by her decree, then there was naught left but for me
to seek my own happiness, and the happiness of the man I loved.

I lifted my head, strengthened by the very thought, the red blood
tingling again through my veins. The truth was mine; I felt no
inclination to obscure it. The time had come for rejoicing, and
action. I loved Rene de Artigny, and, although he had never spoken the
word, I knew he loved me. Tomorrow he would be in exile, a wanderer of
the woods, an escaped prisoner, under condemnation of death, never
again safe within reach of French authority. Ay, but he should not go
alone; in the depths of those forests, beyond