Though she frowned at these last words of his, she leaned forward eagerly to him.
"You will let me go ... at once ... to-night?"
"At once if it lies in my power," he replied unblushingly, "but I fear me that you will have to wait a few hours; the night is as dark as pitch. It were impossible to make a start in it. To-morrow, however...."
"To-morrow?" she cried anxiously, "'Tis to-night that I wish to go."
"The way to Haarlem is long ..." he murmured.
"'Tis not to Haarlem, my lord, but to Delft that I long to go."
"To Delft?" he exclaimed with a perfect show of astonishment.
She bit her lip and for the moment remained silent. It had, indeed, been worse than folly to imagine that he—of all men in the world—would help her to go to Delft. But he had been so gentle, so kind, apparently so ready to do all that she asked, that for the moment she forgot that he and he alone was the mover of that hideous conspiracy to murder which she still prayed to God that she might avert.
"I had forgotten, my lord," she said, as tears threatened to choke her voice, "I had forgotten."
"Forgotten? What?" he asked blankly.