has been woman's fate to do from the beginning of the world, and is so
still. Seeing Septimius, she forgot the restraint that she had hitherto
kept herself under, and, flying at him like a bird, she cried out,
"Septimius, dear Septimius, where have you been? What news do you bring?
You look as if you had seen some strange and dreadful thing."

"Ah, is it so? Does my face tell such stories?" exclaimed the young man. "I
did not mean it should. Yes, Rose, I have seen and done such things as
change a man in a moment."

"Then you have been in this terrible fight," said Rose.

"Yes, Rose, I have had my part in it," answered Septimius.

He was on the point of relieving his overburdened mind by telling her what
had happened no farther off than on the hill above them; but, seeing her
excitement, and recollecting her own momentary interview with the young
officer, and the forced intimacy and link that had been established
between them by the kiss, he feared to agitate her further by telling her
that that gay and beautiful young man had since been slain, and deposited
in a bloody grave by his hands. And yet the recollection of that kiss
caused a thrill of vengeful joy at the thought that the perpetrator had
since expiated his offence with his life, and that it was himself that did
it, so deeply was Septimius's Indian nature of revenge and blood
incorporated with that of more peaceful forefathers, although Septimius
had grace enough to chide down that bloody spirit, feeling that it made
him, not a patriot, but a murderer.

"Ah," said Rose, shuddering, "it is awful when we must kill one another!
And who knows where it will end?"