“You speak of a union with the Chancellor of the Realm as degradation?” “A union with any man when a woman’s whole heart and soul are given to another means misery, degradation. How can you ask it of me--how yourself consent! For I love him--I love him--I love only him!” “Two minutes!” “You don’t realize--you don’t understand! I tell you no, no, this cannot--this must not be. Anything else you ask, but not that! For your own happiness spare me--for your own conscience--your own future peace, save him!” “Not all the angels in heaven, or devils in hell, shall turn me from my path! You are sacrificing everything to a woman’s whim. Time will teach you forgetfulness of this folly and--love!” “A woman’s whim! Ah, the wise Chancellor understands so little of women that he thinks them mere butterflies. But I say to you that when a woman’s spirit is once profoundly stirred, she becomes more firm, more implacable, than the sternest man among you all! Her love knows no measure, no reason, no calculation; her hate has no weakening. Were I to become your wife, I could never forget that the man I adore had been torn from me by force and fraud. My thoughts would always be of him; my only moments of happiness those when I closed my eyes and cheated my senses with the dream that I lay within his arms. The honor, the rank, the titles you offer me, would be nothing, for would they not have been bought at the price of his--of my--happiness! And you--I should hate you!” “Less than one minute!” “Less than one minute! And you will permit this crime! You will let him go to his death--my sweetheart--my handsome, gallant sweetheart! No, you will not! You are too noble, too generous!” “You cannot move me!” “Do you not see that I shall go mad if you kill him? Say that you will give the signal--that you will give the signal!” “Your last moment of opportunity is rapidly passing. Will you save him?” “O God--my God!” “Hear! the hour strikes!” “The signal--the signal! Give the signal!” “Not unless you pledge yourself before the last stroke sounds.” “The signal!” “Never!” “A-a-h!” With a scream she turned suddenly and ran from him to the little table upon which stood the electric lighter. Over her shoulders was a light, loose scarf, which she had worn as part of her garden-party costume. She tore it from her and thrust it into the flame of the electric lighter. In an instant the delicate material had caught the flames and, before Lord Ashley could divine her intention, she rushed to the sigmagraph’s indicator and upon its sensitized surface flashed the light thrice; but not before her gown at sleeves and bosom caught in flame. Lord Ashley, recovering from the first shock of surprise, sprang toward her, dashed the burning scarf to the floor and with a few rapid movements smothered the flames at work upon her frock. “What have you done?” he cried staring at the injury to her dainty white flesh. “Do you realize that you have placed your life in peril?”