The energy with which she expressed herself, communicated a corresponding excitement to the whole manner and person of Matilda.  Her eye sparkled and dilated, and the visible heaving of her bosom told how strongly her own feelings entered into the principles she had advocated.  Never did her personal beauty shine forth more triumphantly or seducingly than at the moment when her lips were giving utterance to sentiments from which the heart recoiled.

“Oh Matilda,” sighed Gerald, “with what subtlety of argument do you seek to familiarize my soul with crime.  But the attempt is vain.  Although my hand is pledged to do your will, my heart must ever mourn its guilt.”

“Foolish Gerald,” said Matilda; “why should that seem guilt to you, a man, which to me, a woman, is but justice; but that unlike me you have never entered into the calm consideration of the subject.  Yes,” she pursued with greater energy, “what you call subtlety of argument is but force of conviction.  For two long years have I dwelt upon the deed, reasoning, and comparing, until at length each latent prejudice has been expelled, and to avenge my harrowing wrongs appeared a duty as distinctly marked as any one contained in the decalogue.  You saw me once, Gerald, when my hand shrank not from what you term the assassin’s blow, and had you not interfered then, the deed would not now remain to be accomplished.”

“Oh, why did I interfere? why did my evil Genius conduct me to such a scene.  Then had I lived at least in ignorance of the fearful act.”

“Nay, Gerald, let it rather be matter of exultation with you that you did.  Prejudiced as you are, this hand (and she extended an arm so exquisitely formed that one would scarce even have submitted it to the winds of Heaven) might not seem half so fair, had it once been dyed in human blood.  Besides who so proper to avenge a woman’s wrongs upon her destroyer, as the lover and the husband to whom she has plighted her faith for ever?  No, no, it is much better as it is; and fate seems to have decreed that it should be so, else why the interruption by yourself on that memorable occasion, and why, after all your pains to avoid me, this our final union, at a moment when the wretch is about to return to his native home, inflated with pride and little dreaming of the fate that awaits him—­Surely, Gerald, you will admit there is something more than mere chance in this?”

“About to return,” repeated Grantham shuddering.  “When, Matilda?”

“Within a week at the latest—­perhaps within three days.  Some unimportant advantage which he has gained on the frontier, has been magnified by his generous fellow citizens into a deed of heroism, and, from information conveyed to me, by a trusty and confidential servant, I find he has obtained leave of absence, to attend a public entertainment to be given in Frankfort, on which occasion a magnificent sword, is to be presented to him.  Never, Gerald,” continued Matilda her voice dropping into a whisper, while a ghastly smile passed over and convulsed her lips, “never shall he live to draw that sword.  The night of his triumph is that which I have fixed for mine.”