d,
looking at Harry, exchanged with him a nod of understanding. No words
were necessary.

"But I must confess I am a coward," said Desiree. "When the time comes
I--I could not bear to see--to wait--"

I looked at her and said simply: "You shall be first," and she gave me
a smile of thanks that spoke of a heart that would not fail when the
final moment arrived. And in my admiration of her high courage I
forgot the horror of the task that must be mine.

It was a relief to have admitted the worst and discussed it calmly;
there is no torment like suspense, and ours was at an end. A load was
lifted from our hearts, and a quiet sympathy created between us,
sincere as death itself. And it was in our power to choose for
ourselves the final moment--we were yet masters of our fates.

All action seems useless when hope is dead, but certain things needed
to be done, and Harry and I bestirred ourselves. We extinguished the
flame in all the urns but one to save the oil, not caring to depart in
darkness.

Our supply of water, we found, was quite sufficient to last for several
days, if used sparingly; for we intended to support life so long as we
had the fuel. Then responsibility ceases; man has a right to hasten
that which fortune has made inevitable.

The hours passed by.

We talked very little; at times Desiree and Harry conversed in subdued
tones which I did not overhear; I was engaged with my own thoughts.
And they were not unpleasant; if, looking death in the face, a man can
preserve his philosophy unchanged, he has made the only success in life
that is worth while.

We ate and drank, but gave neither water nor food to our fellow
prisoner. Not because I really expected to force negotiations with the
Incas--but the thing was possible and was worth a trial. I knew them
well enough to appraise correctly the value of any safe-conduct they
might give us.

I was a little surprised to find in Desiree no levity, the vulgar prop
for courage based on ignorance. There was a tenderness in her manner,
especially toward Harry, that spoke of something deeper and awoke in my
own breast a deeper respect for her. The world had not known Desiree
Le Mire--it had merely been fascinated and amused by her.

Many hours had passed in this tomblike apathy. Two or three times I
had advised Desiree to lie down to rest and, if possible, to sleep.
She had refused, but I became insistent, and Harry added his voice to
my own. Then, to