f I am to pay the
price they are exacting, it will be none too high. I embarked upon a
dastardly business; which brought me to Languedoc under false colours.
I wish, indeed, that I had told you when first the impulse to tell you
came upon me. Afterwards it grew impossible."

"Tell me now," she begged. "Tell me who you are."

Sorely was I tempted to respond. Almost was I on the point of doing so,
when suddenly the thought of how she might shrink from me, of how, even
then, she might come to think that I had but simulated love for her for
infamous purposes of gain, restrained and silenced me. During the few
hours of life that might be left me I would at least be lord and master
of her heart. When I was dead--for I had little hope of Castelroux's
efforts--it would matter less, and perhaps because I was dead she would
be merciful.

"I cannot, Roxalanne. Not even now. It is too vile! If--if they carry
out the sentence on Monday, I shall leave a letter for you, telling you
everything."

She shuddered, and a sob escaped her. From my identity her mind fled
back to the more important matter of my fate.

"They will not carry it out, monsieur! Oh, they till not! Say that you
can defend yourself, that you are not the man they believe you to be!"

"We are in God's hands, child. It may be that I shall save myself yet.
If I do, I shall come straight to you, and you shall know all that there
is to know. But, remember, child"--and raising her face in my hands, I
looked down into the blue of her tearful eyes--"remember, little one,
that in one thing I have been true and honourable, and influenced by
nothing but my heart--in my wooing of you. I love you, Roxalanne, with
all my soul, and if I should die you are the only thing in all this
world that I experience a regret at leaving."

"I do believe it; I do, indeed. Nothing can ever alter my belief again.
Will you not, then, tell me who you are, and what is this thing, which
you call dishonourable, that brought you into Languedoc?"

A moment again I pondered. Then I shook my head.

"Wait, child," said I; and she, obedient to my wishes, asked no more.

It was the second time that I neglected a favourable opportunity of
making that confession, and as I had regretted having allowed the first
occasion to pass unprofited, so was I, and still more poignantly, to
regret this second silence.

A little while she stayed with me yet, and I sought to instil some
measure of comfort into her