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The
lady
is
led
aside
--
dragged
rather
than
led
--
by
her
cousin
,
and
at
the
command
of
her
father
.
She
struggles
in
the
hated
arms
that
hold
her
--
wildly
weeping
,
loudly
protesting
against
the
act
of
inhumanity
.
"
Monsters
!
murderers
!
"
are
the
phrases
that
fall
from
her
lips
.
Her
struggles
are
resisted
;
her
speeches
unheeded
.
She
is
borne
back
beyond
the
confines
of
the
crowd
--
beyond
the
hope
of
giving
help
to
him
,
for
whom
she
is
willing
to
lay
down
her
life
!
Bitter
are
the
speeches
Calhoun
is
constrained
to
hear
--
heartbreaking
the
words
now
showered
upon
him
.
Better
for
him
he
had
not
taken
hold
of
her
.
It
scarce
consoles
him
--
that
certainty
of
revenge
.
His
rival
will
soon
be
no
more
;
but
what
matters
it
?
The
fair
form
writhing
in
his
grasp
can
never
be
consentingly
embraced
.
He
may
kill
the
hero
of
her
heart
,
but
not
conquer
for
himself
its
most
feeble
affection
!
For
a
third
time
is
the
tableau
reconstructed
--
spectators
and
actors
in
the
dread
drama
taking
their
places
as
before
.
The
lazo
is
once
more
passed
over
the
limb
;
the
same
two
scoundrels
taking
hold
of
its
loose
end
--
this
time
drawing
it
towards
them
till
it
becomes
taut
.
For
the
third
time
arises
the
reflection
:
"
Soon
must
the
soul
of
Maurice
Gerald
go
back
to
its
God
!
"
Now
nearer
than
ever
does
the
unfortunate
man
seem
to
his
end
.
Even
love
has
proved
powerless
to
save
him
!
Wha
power
on
earth
can
be
appealed
to
after
this
?
None
likely
to
avail
.
