Thus those miserable days went by, and the third morning came, that
dreaded Wednesday. Before it was dawn Benita and her father, neither of
whom had closed their eyes that night, talked over their strait long and
earnestly, and they knew that its crisis was approaching.
"I think that I had better try to kill him, Benita," he said. "I am
growing dreadfully weak, and if I put it off I may find no strength,
and you will be at his mercy. I can easily shoot him when his back is
turned, and though I hate the thought of such a deed, surely I shall be
forgiven. Or if not, I cannot help it. I must think of my duty to you,
not of myself."
"No, no," she answered. "I will not have it. It would be murder,
although he has threatened you. After all, father, I believe that the
man is half mad, and not responsible. We must take our chance and trust
to God to save us. If He does not," she added, "at the worst I can
always save myself," and she touched the pistol which now she wore day
and night.
"So be it," said Mr. Clifford, with a groan. "Let us pray for
deliverance from this hell and keep our hands clean of blood."
XX
JACOB MEYER SEES A SPIRIT
For a while they were silent, then Benita said:
"Father, is it not possible that we might escape, after all? Perhaps
that stair on the rampart is not so completely blocked that we could not
climb over it.
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