But she could
not bear to see him looking so. Once more she essayed to engage his
attention.
"Give me those letters, Paul--I can perhaps make out the meaning."
As he did not reply, she gently sought to take them from his hand. But
at her touch he suddenly started up and threw the packet into the fire.
With a quick spring, Miriam darted forward, thrust her hand into the
fire and rescued the packet, scorched and burning, but not destroyed.
She began to put it out, regardless of the pain to her hands. He looked
as if he were tempted to snatch it from her, but she exclaimed:
"No, Paul! no! You will not use force to deprive me of this that I must
guard as a sacred trust."
Still Paul hesitated, and eyed the packet with a gloomy glance.
"Remember honor, Paul, even in this trying moment," said Miriam; "let
honor be saved, if all else be lost."
"What do you mean to do with that parcel?" he asked in a hollow voice.
"Keep them securely for the present."
"And afterward?"
"I know not."
"Miriam, you evade my questions. Will you promise me one thing?"
"What is that?"
"Promise me to do nothing with those letters until you have further
evidence."
"I promise you that."
Then Paul took up a candle and left the room, as if to go to his
sleeping apartment; but on reaching the hall, he threw down and
extinguished the light and rushed as if for breath out into the open
air.
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