Mr. Rogers awkwardly stammered that he hoped she wouldn't mention it. But if the speech was inadequate, his action made up for it. He took her hand and kissed it respectfully.
It seemed that she had more to say. "I have still another favour to ask," she went on—I have heard since that a woman always keeps some tenderness for an honest man who has once wooed her, however decidedly she may have said "no." Isabel's smile was at once tender and anxious; but it drew no response from Mr. Rogers, who had let drop her fingers and stood now with eyes uncomfortably averted.
"I want a wedding gift," said she.
"Eh?" He turned a flushed face and perceived that she was pointing at Leicester.
"I want this man from you. Will you give him to me?"
"For what?"
"You shall see." She knelt at the prisoner's feet and began to unbuckle the strap about his ankles; shrinking a little at first at the touch of him, but resolutely conquering her disgust.
Mr. Rogers put down a hand to prevent her.
"You never mean to set him free?"
"That is what I ask," she answered, with an upturned look of appeal.