th the resolve to pluck her and hers
from the abyss into which they were bent on flinging themselves. It was
that resolution which had done the mischief, and made her his enemy to
this point. But he could not regret that. He could not repent of
that--he who had seen war in all its cruel phases, and fierce
rebellions, and more cruel repressions. Perish--though he perished
himself in this cold prison--perish the thought! For even now some
warmth awoke at his heart, some heat was kindled in him by the
reflection that, whatever befell him, he had saved scores and hundreds
from misery, a countryside from devastation, women and children from
the worst of fates. Many and many a one who cursed his name to-day had
cause, did he know it, to remember him in his prayers. And though he
never saw the sun again, though the grim walls about him proved indeed
his grave, though he never lived to return to the cold lands where he
had made a name and a place for himself, he would at least pass beyond
with full hands, and with the knowledge that for every life he, the
soldier of fortune, had taken, he had saved ten.

He sat an hour, two hours, thinking of this, and of her; and towards
the end less bitterly. For he was just, and could picture the wild,
untutored heart of the girl, bred in solitude, dwelling on the present
wrongs and the past greatness of her race, taking dreams for realities,
and that which lay in cloudland for the possible. Her rough awakening
from those dreams, her disappointment, the fall from the heaven of
fancy to the world as it was, might--he owned it--have driven even a
generous spirit to cruel and heartless lengths. And still he sighed--he
sighed.

At the end of two hours he roused himself perforce. For he was very
cold, and that could only be mended by such exercise as the size of his
prison permitted. He set himself to walk briskly up and down. When he
had taken a few turns, however, he paused with his eyes on the table.
The candles? They would serve him the longer if he burned but one at a
time. He extinguished three. The deed? He might burn it, and so put the
temptation, which he was too wise to despise, out of reach. But he had
noticed in one corner a few half-charred fragments of wood, damp
indeed, but such as might be kindled by coaxing. He would preserve the
deed for the purpose of kindling the wood; and the fire, as his only
luxury, he would postpone until he needed it more sorely. In the end
the table an