“What!” exclaimed J. T. Maston, “you have consented to talk thus to me! You have imagined that I would betray my colleagues?” “Do you think so meanly of me? I to ask you to sacrifice your safety to your honour? I to urge you to an act which would be the disgrace of a life consecrated to the highest speculations of the higher mechanics?” “Bravo, Mrs. Scorbitt! I recognize the worthy shareholder of our Association! Never did I doubt your courage!” “Thank you, dear Maston.” “As for me, to divulge our work; to reveal at what spot on the surface of the earth our effort is to be made; to sell the secret I fortunately kept hidden within me; to permit these barbarians to launch off in pursuit of our friends, to interrupt the labours they are engaged in for our profit and our glory! I would rather die first!” “Maston, you are sublime!” said Evangelina. In truth, these two beings, so closely united in enthusiasm—and equally mad—were born to understand each other. “No!” continued Maston. “Never shall they know the name of the country which my calculations have designated, and which will become immortal. They may kill me if they will, but they shall never possess my secret.” “And they may kill me with you,” said Mrs. Scorbitt; “for I also will be dumb.” “Fortunately, they do not know that you possess the secret.” [Illustration: Attempted to knock him down. Page 97. ] “Do you think I am capable of revealing it because I am only a woman? to betray our colleagues and you? No, my friend; no! The Philistines may raise the world against you to tear you from your cell, but I will be with you, and we shall have at least the consolation of dying together!” And that was the way the conversation ended every time the widow visited the prisoner. And every time the Commissioners inquired as to the result the answer was the same. “Nothing yet; but in time I hope to obtain what you want!” Oh, the astuteness of woman! “In time!” she said. But time marched on; weeks went by like days, days like hours, hours like minutes. It was now May. Mrs. Scorbitt had obtained nothing; and if she had failed, who could hope to succeed? Was the world to resign itself to this terrible blow without a chance of hindering it?