A crime, I say, which will bring with it worse punishment than any you can dream; perhaps even the punishment of everlasting separation." "Does a man stretched in some torture-den commit a crime if he snatches a knife and kills himself, Horace?
Perhaps; but surely that sin should find forgiveness--if torn flesh and quivering nerves may plead for mercy.

I am such a man, and I will use that knife and take my chance.
She is dead, and in death at least I shall be nearer her." "Why so, Leo?
For aught you know Ayesha may be living." "No; for then she would have given me some sign.

My mind is made up, so talk no more, or, if talk we must, let it be of other things." Then I pleaded with him, though with little hope, for I saw that what I had feared for long was come to pass.

Leo was mad: shock and sorrow had destroyed his reason.

Were it not so, he, in his own way a very religious man, one who held, as I knew, strict opinions on such matters, would never have purposed to commit the wickedness of suicide.
"Leo," I said, "are you so heartless that you would leave me here alone?
Do you pay me thus for all my love and care, and wish to drive me to my death?
Do so if you will, and my blood be on your head." "Your blood! Why your blood, Horace ?" "Because that road is broad and two can travel it.