"Black Donald--will you leave my room?" cried Capitola, in an agony
of prayer.
"No!" answered the outlaw, mocking her tone.
"Is there no inducement that I can hold out to you to leave me?"
"None!"
Capitola raised herself from her leaning posture, took a step
backward, so that she stood entirely free from the trap-door, then
slipping her foot under the rug, she placed it lightly on the
spring-bolt, which she was careful not to press; the ample fall of
her dress concealed the position of her foot.
Capitola was now paler than a corpse, for hers was the pallor of a
living horror! Her heart beat violently, her head throbbed, her
voice was broken as she said:
"Man, I will give you one more chance! Oh, man, pity yourself as I
pity you, and consent to leave me!"
"Ha, ha, ha! It is quite likely that I will! Isn't it, now? No, my
duck, I haven't watched and planned for this chance for this long
time past to give it up, now that you are in my power! A likely
story indeed! And now the five minutes' grace are quite up!"
"Stop! Don't move yet! Before you stir, say: 'Lord, have mercy on
me!" said Capitola, solemnly.
"Ha, ha, ha! That's a pretty idea! Why should I say that?"
"Say it to please me! Only say it, Black Donald!"
"But why to please you?"
"Because I wish not to kill both your body and soul--because I would
not send you prayerless into the presence of your Creator! For,
Black Donald, within a few seconds your body will be hurled to swift
destruction, and your soul will stand before the bar of God!" said
Capitola, with her foot upon the spring of the concealed trap.
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