I had slain him in
fair combat, body to body--and, however the law of God may stigmatize
homicide, there was still that enormous difference. I had played my
life against his, as it were--he had lost, and he paid the forfeit. But
_the other_ was _murdered_! That fact stared me in the face. She had
dishonored me; tricked me; attempted to poison, and then shoot me.
_She_ had designed to murder _me_, and had set about her design
deliberately, coolly, without provocation, impelled by the lust of gold
only. She deserved punishment, but--she was a woman! I had not said
'Go!' either, in pointing to the gloomy path to death. I had said
'Come!'--had meant to die too. I had not shrunk from the torrent in
which I had resolved she should be borne away. I had gone into the boat
with her; accompanied her on her way; devoted myself, too, to death, at
the same moment. But all was useless. I said to myself a thousand
times--'at least they can not say that I was a coward, as well as a
murderer. The last of the Mohuns may have blackened his escutcheon with
the crime of murder--but at least he did not spare _himself_; he faced
death with his victim.' Useless, Surry--all useless! The inexorable
Voice with which I fenced, had only one reply--one lunge--'She was a
woman!' and the words pierced me like a sword-blade!
"Let me end this, but not before I say that the dreadful Voice was
_right_.
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