"What does this
tell you?" he demanded in turn.
"You were a prisoner," said Stephen. "I'm sorry. You're a free man,
now..... Look, you can't kill me. There's no reason---"
"What in Hell do you mean, free?"
The Englishman could not understand the vehemence with which the word
was spoken. "All prisoners of war have been pardoned. The word arrived
yesterday, with the new Secretary. You have only to turn yourself in,
and renounce your former cause..... Reconciliation."
"You're lying," said Michael desperately. "You're like your father. .
. you're lying
!"
"No. On my mother's grave, I swear it."
Then to his bewilderment, Stephen saw the man take his head in both
hands, and fall to his knees with a tortured cry. At length the worn
face looked up, and it was neither joy nor relief, but unutterable
sorrow that was written there. Almost a whisper.
"Then why. Why, in God's name, were you so Hell-bound to capture us?"
Purceville hesitated, fearful of another outburst. But the answer was
so obvious. "A last minute power play.
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