tentions, since I am not believed. But am I to be liberated alone; or are my friends included in your merciful intentions?"
"Your friends are too dangerous enemies of the commonwealth, to be rescued from the fate that awaits them. Your sex, perhaps the memory of our ancient friendship, plead for you; and I do not think that it accords with your wisdom to make conditions with one who has the power to do that which best pleases him."
"And yet I will not yield; I will not most unworthily attend to my own safety, while my associates die. No, my lord, if they are to be sacrificed, the addition of one poor woman will add little to the number of your victims; and I cannot consent to desert them."
"How do you desert them? You will never see or hear of them more, or they of you. But this is trifling; and my moments are precious."
"I will not—I dare not follow you. My heart, my conscience tell me to remain. I must not disobey their voice."
"Is your conscience so officious now, and
