"But why not? It would not be a cowardly act at all. I could not blame you, for I have no claim on your service--never have had. You have done a thousand times too much already; you have risked honor, reputation, and neglected duty to aid my escape; and--and I am nothing to you--can be nothing." "Nothing to me!" "Certainly not. Why speak like that? Have you forgotten again that I am a slave--a negress? Think, Lieutenant Knox, what it would mean to you to be caught in my company; to be overtaken while attempting to assist me in escaping from my master. Now no one dreams of such a thing, and no one ever need dream. You have had your adventure; let it end here. I shall be grateful to you always, but--but I cannot bear to drag you deeper into this mire." "You order me to leave you?" "I cannot order; I am a slave. My only privilege is to request, urge, implore. I can merely insist that it will be best--best for us both--for you to go. Surely you also must realize that this is true?" "I do not know exactly what I realize," I said doubtfully. "Nothing seems altogether clear in my mind. If I could leave you in safety, in the care of friends, perhaps I should not hesitate--but now--" "Am I any worse off than the others?" she interrupted. "I, at least, have yet the chance of escape, while they remain helplessly in Kirby's clutches. When--when I think of them, I no longer care about myself; I--I feel almost responsible for their fate, and--and it would kill me to know that I had dragged you down also. You have no right to sacrifice yourself for such as I." "You have been brooding over all this," I said gently, "sitting here alone, and thinking while we worked. I am not going to answer you now. There is no need. Nothing can be done until night, whatever we decide upon. You will go back with us to the boat?" "Yes; I simply cannot stay here," her eyes wandering toward the cabin. I took the lead on the return, finding the path easy enough to follow in the full light of day. The sincere honesty of her plea--the knowledge that she actually meant it--only served to draw me closer, to strengthen my determination not to desert. Her face was ever before me as I advanced--a bravely pathetic face, wonderfully womanly in its girlish contour--appealing to every impulse of my manhood. I admitted the truth of what she said--it had been largely love of adventure, the rash recklessness of youth, which had brought me here. But this was my inspiration no longer. I had begun to realize that something deeper, more worthy, now held me to the task. What this was I made no attempt to analyze--possibly I did not dare--but, nevertheless, the mere conception of deserting her in the midst of this wilderness was too utterly repugnant for expression. No, not that; whatever happened, it would never be that.