She could
not hope to influence this man or his associates. She knew her fate
now--it was death!--death by her own hand, before that man's foot should
profane her threshold! She knew her fate, and knowing it, grew calm and
strong. There were no more hopes or fears or doubts or trepidations.
Over the weakness of the flesh the spirit ruled victorious, and Edith
stood revealed to herself richly endowed with that heroism she had so
worshiped in others--in that supreme moment mistress of herself and of
her fate. To die by her own hand! but not rashly--not till a trial
should be made--not till the last moment. And how beautiful in this
last fateful moment she looked! The death pallor had passed from her
countenance--the summer breeze was lifting the light black curls--soft
shadows were playing upon the pearly brow--a strange elevation
irradiated her face, and it "shone as it had been the face of an angel."
"By George! boys, what a pretty wench! Keep back, you d----d rascals!"
(for the men had dismounted and were pressing behind him) "keep back, I
say, you drunken ----! Let rank have precedence in love as in other
things! Your turn may come afterward! Ho! pretty mistress, has your
larder the material to supply my men with a meal?"
Edith glanced around for her attendants.
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