"I cannot, Roxalanne. Not even now. It is too vile! If - if they
carry out the sentence on Monday, I shall leave a letter for you,
telling you everything."
She shuddered, and a sob escaped her. From my identity her mind
fled back to the more important matter of my fate.
"They will not carry it out, monsieur! Oh, they till not! Say that
you can defend yourself, that you are not the man they believe you
to be!"
"We are in God's hands, child. It may be that I shall save myself
yet. If I do, I shall come straight to you, and you shall know all
that there is to know. But, remember, child" - and raising her
face in my hands, I looked down into the blue of her tearful eyes -
"remember, little one, that in one thing I have been true and
honourable, and influenced by nothing but my heart - in my wooing
of you. I love you, Roxalanne, with all my soul, and if I should
die you are the only thing in all this world that I experience a
regret at leaving."
"I do believe it; I do, indeed. Nothing can ever alter my belief
again. Will you not, then, tell me who you are, and what is this
thing, which you call dishonourable, that brought you into Languedoc?"
A moment again I pondered. Then I shook my head.
"Wait, child," said I; and she, obedient to my wishes, asked no more.
It was the second time that I neglected a favourable opportunity of
making that confession, and as I had regretted having allowed the
first occasion to pass unprofited, so was I, and still more
poignantly, to regret this second silence.
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