“And so,” she said, in a clear, cold, ringing voice, “this is the sacrifice you ask of me?—to sever myself from you forever—to go forth into the great, cruel, cold world alone, with a bleeding, broken heart, a blighted reputation, and a blasted name? All this I might endure, perhaps I would—but you have asked _more_ of me, Jasper. You have asked me to confess myself a thing infamous and vile—a polluted wretch—not a wife, but a wanton! You have asked _me_, your own wedded wife, to write myself down, with my own hand, a harlot, and to stand by and look on at your marriage with another—as if I were the filthy thing you would name me. Than be that thing, Jasper, I would rather die a hundred fold; than call myself that thing, being innocent of deed or thought of shame, I had rather _be it_! Now, sir, are you answered? What, heap the name of harlot on my mother’s ashes! What, blacken my dead father’s stainless ’scutcheon! What—_lie_, before my God, to brand myself, the first of an honest line, with the strumpet’s stain of blackness! Never! never! though thou and I, and all the youth of England, were to die in tortures inconceivable; never! though England were to perish unredeemed! Now, sir, I ask you, are you answered?” “I am,” he replied, perfectly unmoved, “I am answered, Theresa, as I hoped, as I expected to be.” “What do you mean?—did you not ask me to do this thing?” “I did _not_, Theresa. I told you what sacrifice might save us all. I did _not_ ask you to make it. Nay, did I not tell you that I would not even suffer you to make it?” “But you told me—you told me—God help me, for I think I shall go mad! Oh! tempt me no further, Jasper; try me no further. Is—is this true, that you have told me?” “Every word—every word of it, my own best love,” answered the arch deceiver, “save only that I would not for my life, nay, for my soul, have suffered you to make the sacrifice I spoke of. Perish myself, my friends! perish England! nay, perish the whole earth, rather!” “Then why so tempt me? Why so sorely, so cruelly try this poor heart, Jasper?” “To learn if you were strong enough to share in my secrets—and you shall share them. We must fly, Theresa; not from Plymouth; not from any seaport, but from the wildest gorge in the wild coast of Devon. I have hired a fishing-boat to await us. We must ride forth alone, as if for a pleasure party, across the hills, to-morrow, and so make our way to the place appointed. If we escape, all shall be well—come the worst, as you said, my own Theresa, at least we shall die together.” “Are you in earnest, Jasper?” “On my soul! by the God who hears me!” “And you _will_ take me with you; you will not cast me from you; you will uphold me ever to be your own, your wedded wife?” “I will—I will. Not for the universe! not for my own soul! would I lose you, my own, own Theresa!”