He broke it himself at last, pointing to the door. "Go! murderer, or man-slayer, or whatever you are, you must go free. Moreover, I must have your promise--no, your oath--that the secret you have kept so long, you will now keep for ever." "Sir," I said; but he stopped me fiercely. "No hesitations--no explanations--I will have none and give none. As you said, your life is mine--to do with it as I choose. Better you should go unpunished, than that I and mine should be disgraced. Obey me. Promise." I did. Thus, in another and still stranger way, my resolutions were broken, my fate was decided for me, and I have to keep this secret unconfessed to the end. "Now, go. Put half the earth between us if you can--only go." Again I turned to obey. Blind obedience seemed the only duty left me. I might even have quitted the house, with a feeling of total irresponsibility and indifference to all things, had it not been for a low cry which I heard, as in a dream. So did her father. "Dora--I had forgotten. There was some sort of fancy between you and Dora. Daughter, bid him farewell, and let him go." Then she said--my love said, in her own soft, distinct voice: "No, papa, I never mean to bid him farewell--that is, finally--never as long as I live." Her father and sister were both so astounded, that at first they did not interrupt her, but let her speak on. "I belonged to Max before all this happened. If it had happened a year hence, when I was his wife, it would not have broken our marriage. It ought not now. When any two people are to one another what we are, they are as good as married; and they have no right to part, no more than man and wife have, unless either grows wicked, or both change. I never mean to part from Max Urquhart." She spoke meekly, standing with hands folded and head drooping; but as still and steadfast as a rock. My darling--my darling! Steadfast! She had need to he. What she bore during the next few minutes she would not wish me to repeat, I feel sure. She knows it, and so do I. She knows also that every stab with which I then saw her wounded for my sake, is counted in my heart, as a debt to be paid one day, if between those who love there can be any debts at all. She says not. Yet, if ever she is my wife.--People talk of dying for a woman's sake--but to live--live for her with the whole of one's being--to work for her, to sustain and cheer her--to fill her daily existence with tenderness and care--if ever she is my wife, she will find out what I mean. After saying all he well could say, Mr. Johnston asked her how she dared think of me--me, laden with her brother's blood and her father's curse.