Part 61 (1/2)

”No one need ever know that,” she said earnestly. ”I will go away, unless you give me over to the authorities as the spy. For the wrong I have done you I will make any atonement--any expiation--”

”There is no atonement you could make,” he answered, steadily. ”There is no forgiveness possible.”

”I know,” she said, whisperingly, as if afraid to trust her voice aloud, ”I know you could never forgive me. I--I do not ask it; only, Kenneth, a few hours ago we promised to love each other always,” her voice broke for an instant and then she went on, ”I shall keep that promise wherever I go, and--that is all--I think--”

She had paused beside the table, where he sat, with his head buried in his hands.

”I give you back the wedding ring,” she continued, slipping it from her finger, but he did not speak or move. She kissed the little gold circlet and laid it beside him. ”I am going now,” she said, steadily as she could; ”I ask for no remembrance, no forgiveness; but--have you no word of good-bye for me?--not one? It is forever, Kenneth--_Kenneth_!”

Her last word was almost a scream, for a shot had sounded just outside the window, and there was the rush of feet on the veranda and the crash of arms.

”Go! Go at once!” she said, grasping his arm. ”They will take you prisoner--they will--”

”So!” he said, rising and reaching for the sword on the rack near him; ”this is one of the plots you did _not_ reveal to me; some of your Federal friends!”

”Oh, I warned you! I begged you to go,” she said, pleadingly; again she caught his arm as he strode towards the veranda, but he flung himself loose with an angry exclamation:

”Let your friends look to themselves,” he said, grimly. ”My own guard is here to receive them today.”

As he tore aside the curtains and opened the gla.s.s door she flung herself in front of him. On the steps and on the lawn men were struggling, and shots were being fired. Men were remounting their horses in hot haste and a few minutes later were clattering down the road, leaving one dead stranger at the foot of the steps. But for his presence it would all have seemed but a tumultuous vision of grey-garbed combatants.

It was, perhaps, ten minutes later when Kenneth McVeigh re-entered the library. All was vague and confused in his mind as to what had occurred there in the curtained alcove. She had flung herself in front of him with her arms about him as the door opened; there had been two shots in quick succession, one of them had shattered the gla.s.s, and the other--

He remembered tearing himself from her embrace as she clung to him, and he remembered she had sunk with a moan to the floor; at the time he thought her att.i.tude and cry had meant only despair at her failure to stop him, but, perhaps--

He found her in the same place; the oval portrait was open in her hand, as though her last look had been given to the pretty mother, whose memory she had cherished, and whose race she had fought for.