“What next, Tom?” I cried eagerly.

“I am thinking whether it is fair to her to tell you, and yet it is right you should know.”

“What was it, Tom?”

She threw herself down on her knees before us, and besought us to keep the matter in our own hearts.

“‘It is not true!’ she cried; ’Mr. Blake would never do such a thing.  There is some mistake.  Promise me no word shall be uttered as to this.  Mr. Kaffar has left, as he said, and gone back to Egypt.  Why, then, should such a terrible suspicion be aroused?  I will answer for Mr. Blake’s innocence.’

“‘You answer, Miss Forrest?’ cried Voltaire.  ’Nay, you cannot.  I would I could be merciful, but it must not be.  My friend’s spirit would haunt me from town to town and land to land.’

“‘Mr. Temple,’ she cried to me, ’you will not tell, will you?  You will not spread such a deceptive story about?’

“‘No,’ I replied, ’I will not.  Like you, I think there must be a mistake.  My friend Justin could never do this.’

“‘There,’ she cried to Voltaire; ’there’s only you to be silent.  Do it for my sake!’”

I could not help feeling a great throb of joy in my heart at this.  I was sure now that she loved me.  I could bear anything after hearing those words.  I was happy in spite of the terrible net that was woven around me.

“‘For your sake,’ said Voltaire—­’for your sake I could do almost anything.  For your sake I could give up home, friends, happiness, life.  Yes, I say this, here, in the presence of my friend Temple.  I could forego anything for you.  I would sacrifice father and mother for you.’”

I gave a great start.

“Justin, that man trembled like a leaf.  His face became ashy pale; his terrible eyes became brighter than ever.

“‘You ask me much,’ he continued.  ’You ask me to give up what is now the dearest object of my life—­except one.  But, ah!  I am an Eastern.  I am selfish; I cannot sacrifice disinterestedly.  There is only one thing for which I can give up my scheme of vengeance.’

“‘Tell me what it is,’ she cried.

“’Ah, sweet lady, I dare not tell; and yet I must.  It is you.  Be my wife, Miss Forrest; let me call you by your name, and I will wipe the blood from this knife, I will destroy every evidence of the dark deed.  Justin Blake shall not lie in a prison cell; his name shall not be a synonym for devilry; he shall not be mentioned with loathing.’”

“And what then?” I cried.  “What was her answer?”

“Man, she looked at him with loathing, but he did not see it.

“‘Be your wife?’ she said.

“‘My wife, Miss Forrest,’ he replied.  ’Love cannot be greater than mine.  I love the very ground on which you walk.  Be my wife and I will be your slave.  Your every desire shall be granted, and I will give up that which is dear to me.’

“‘And if I will not?’ she said.

“’Ah, if you will not!  Then—­ah, I am an Eastern, and cannot give up everything.  If I cannot have love, I must have vengeance.’