All this while Mrs. Allen had been lying in the back of her daughter's bed with her face to the wall. The wearing effect of nights without sleep and days of harassing labor lay heavily upon her. At most times she was a sound sleeper, but now it seemed as if death itself had taken possession of her faculties. She knew nothing of Katharine's absence from the room—nothing of Paul's entrance, but the first cold touch of the fugitive's hand was enough. The gray eyes opened wildly in the moonlight, and she started up in bed.
Katharine stood before her fully dressed, and with some heavy dark garment in her hand. Mrs. Allen heard Paul speaking in the garret outside, and comprehended the scene.
"Mother, I am going. They want to kill me; I am innocent, and have a right to my life. I am going away, mother."
The whispers in which Katharine spoke were broken, and came gasping from her lips. Mrs. Allen started from the bed and began to put on her clothes.
"Yes," she muttered, wildly, "I have thought of this night and day. One does not see a lamb go to the slaughter without a wish to help it. The child of one's old age is better than a lamb. I said to myself, if the instincts of innocence lead her to it, she shall escape. She has forfeited nothing—her life is her own—God gave it to her, and God will instruct her how to keep it."
Tom opened the door, and came into the room on tiptoe.
"Hush! don't, Mrs. Allen. We can hear you a muttering clear into the garret. Them men down-stairs love cider, but they ain't moles. Just give 'em a chance, and they'll be after us full split afore you know it—hish!"
Mrs. Allen did not speak again, but took a heavy cloak from the wall and folded it over the garments which she had just put on. She took Katharine's hand in her own firm grasp, and led her into the garret. The gable window was open, and a cold, sharp wind came sweeping through, while the moonlight thus let in fell half across the garret.
Jube was on the ladder outside, waiting. Paul stood aside from the light, but the eager fire of his eyes could be seen even in the darkness. The mother and child were half way across the garret, when Katharine broke away suddenly, and went back, her face uplifted, as if she were counting the rafters. She disappeared in the gloom, and her hand made a creaking noise, as it passed along the torn shingles projecting themselves from one of the rafters. But she darted back into the moonlight with a scrap of paper in her hand, which rustled to the wind like a dead leaf.
"I am ready now, mother," she whispered.