CHAPTER XLV.
With a deep sigh, I placed one hand in that of Bug-Jargal, and the other in that of Marie, who gazed with anxiety on the sadness that had overspread my features.
“Bug-Jargal,” said I, struggling with emotion, “I entrust to you the only being in the world that I love more than you—my Marie. Return to the camp without me, for I may not follow you.”
“Great heavens!” exclaimed Marie, hardly able to breathe from her terror and anxiety, “what new misfortune is this?”
Bug-Jargal trembled, and a look of mingled sorrow and surprise passed over his face.
“Brother, what is this that you say?”
The terror that had seized upon Marie at the thought of the coming misfortune which her love for me had almost caused her to divine, made me determined to spare her the dreadful truth for the moment. I placed my mouth to Bug-Jargal’s ear, and whispered in hurried accents: “I am a prisoner. I swore to Biassou that two hours before sunset I would once more place myself in his hands; in fact, I have sworn to return to my death!”
Filled with rage, in a loud voice he exclaimed:
“The monster! This then was his motive for a secret interview with you—it was to bind you with this fatal promise. I ought to have distrusted the wretch. Why did I not foresee that there must be some treachery lurking in the request, for he is a mulatto, not a black.”
“What is this—what treachery? what promise?” said Marie, in an agony of terror. “And who is Biassou?”
“Silence, silence,” repeated I, in a low voice to Bug-Jargal; “do not let us alarm Marie.”
“Good,” answered he; “but why did you give such a pledge, how could you consent?”
“I thought that you had deceived me, and that Marie was lost to me for ever. What was life to me then?”
“But a simple promise cannot bind you to a brigand like that.”
“I gave my word of honour.”
He did not seem to understand me.
“Your word of honour,” repeated he; “but what is that? You did not drink out of the same cup; you have not broken a ring together, or a branch of the red-blossomed maple?”
“No, we have done none of these things.”
“Well, then, what binds you to him?”
“My honour!”
“I cannot understand you; nothing pledges you to Biassou; come with us?”
“I cannot, my brother, for I am bound by my promise.”
“No, you are not bound,” cried he, angrily. “Sister, add your prayers to mine, and entreat your husband not to leave you. He wishes to return to the negro camp from which I rescued him, on the plea that he has promised to place his life in Biassou’s hands.”
“What have you done?” cried I.
It was too late to stay the effects of the generous impulse that had prompted him to endeavour to save the life of his rival by the help of her he loved. Marie cast herself into my arms with a cry of anguish, her hands clasped my neck, and she hung upon my breast, speechless and breathless.
“Oh, my Leopold, what does he say?” murmured she, at last. “Is he not deceiving me? It is not immediately after our reunion that you must quit me again. Answer me quickly or I shall die. You have no right to throw away your life, for you have given it to me. You would not leave me, never to see me again.”
“Marie,” answered I, “we shall meet again, but it will be in another place.”
“In another place! Where?” she asked, in faltering accents.
“In heaven,” I answered; for to this angel I could not lie.
Again she fainted, but this time it was from grief. I raised her up, and placed her in the arms of Bug-Jargal, whose eyes were full of tears.
“Nothing can keep you back, then,” said he; “I will add nothing to my entreaties, this sight ought to be enough. How can you resist Marie? For one word like she has spoken I would have sacrificed the world, and you cannot even give up death for her.”
“Honour binds me,” answered I, sadly. “Farewell, Bug-Jargal, farewell, brother; I leave her to you.”
He grasped my hand, overwhelmed with grief, and appeared hardly to understand me.
“Brother,” said he, “in the camp of the whites there are some of your relations, I will give her over to them; for my part I cannot accept your legacy.”
He pointed to a rocky crag which towered high above the adjacent country.
“Do you see that rock?” asked he, “when the signal of your death shall float from it, it will promptly be answered by the volley that announces mine.”
Hardly understanding his last words, I embraced him, pressed a last kiss upon the pale lips of Marie, who was slowly recovering under the attentions of her nurse, and fled precipitately, fearing that another look or word would shake my resolution.
