Then hot tears fell upon my hands. In the gloom there paused a childlike figure.
"Rebecca!"
She panted out a wordless cry. Then she came closer and laid a hand on my arm. She was struggling to subdue sobs. The question came in a shivering breath.
"Is Hortense—so dear?"
"So dear, Rebecca."
"She must be wondrous happy, Ramsay." A tumult of effort. "If I could only take her place——"
"Take her place, Rebecca?"
"My father hath the key—if—if—if I took her place, she might go free."
"Take her place, child! What folly is this—dear, kind Rebecca? Would 't be any better to send you to the rope than Hortense? No—no—dear child!"
At that her agitation abated, and she puzzled as if to say more.