“If the death of one man will preserve the lives of many, how may that one be spared?” said Sir Nigel, folding the sweet pleader closer to him, though his features spoke no relaxation of his purpose.  “Sweet Agnes, do not ask this, give me not the bitter pain of refusing aught to thee.  Thou knowest not all the mischief and misery which pardon to a traitor such as this will do; thou listenest only to thy kind heart and the sad pleadings of those who love this man.  Now listen to me, beloved, and judge thyself.  Did I believe a pardon would bring back the traitor to a sense of duty, to a consciousness of his great crime—­did I believe giving life to him would deter others from the same guilt, I should scarce wait even for thy sweet pleading to give him both liberty and life; but I know him better than thou, mine Agnes.  He is one of those dark, discontented, rebellious spirits, that never rest in stirring up others to be like them; who would employ even the life I gave him to my own destruction, and that of the brave and faithful soldiers with me.”

“But send him hence, dearest Nigel,” still entreated Agnes.  “Give him life, but send him from the castle; will not this remove the danger of his influence with others?”

“And give him field and scope to betray us yet again, sweet one.  It were indeed scorning the honorable counsel of Hereford to act thus; for trust me, Agnes, there are not many amid our foes would resist temptation as he hath done.”

“Yet would not keeping him close prisoner serve thee as well as death, Nigel?  Bethink thee, would it not spare the ill of taking life?”

“Dearest, no,” he answered.  “There are many, alas! too many within these walls who need an example of terror to keep them to their duty.  They will see that treachery avails not with the noble Hereford, and that, discovered by me, it hath no escape from death.  If this man be, as I imagine, in league with other contentious spirits—­for he could scarce hope to betray the castle into the hands of the English without some aid within—­his fate may strike such terror into other traitor hearts that their designs will be abandoned.  Trust me, dearest, I do not do this deed of justice without deep regret; I grieve for the necessity even as the deed, and yet it must be; and bitter as it is to refuse thee aught, indeed I cannot grant thy boon.”

“Yet hear me once more, Nigel.  Simple and ignorant as I am, I cannot answer such arguments as thine; yet may it not be that this deed of justice, even while it strikes terror, may also excite the desire for revenge, and situated as we are were it not better to avoid all such bitterness, such heart-burnings amongst the people?”

“We must brave it, dearest,” answered Nigel, firmly, “The direct line of justice and of duty may not be turned aside for such fears as these.”

“Nor do I think they have foundation,” continued Sir Christopher Seaton.  “Thou hast pleaded well and kindly, gentle maiden, yet gladly as we would do aught to pleasure thee, this that thou hast asked, alas! must not be.  The crime itself demands punishment, and even could we pardon that, duty to our country, our king, ourselves, calls loudly for his death, lest his foul treachery should spread.”