And still with that strange density which at times overclouds the instinct, a thought of the real culprit never crossed his mind.
Again he strove to turn his thoughts back to his own position, to weigh the prospects of release; but with scant ardour. Life had little to offer if he must stand by and see her suffer, and in face of his present disgrace, he realised his helplessness to assist her.
He continued to gaze moodily before him, idly watching a ray of moonlight steal across the floor of the shed. To his surprise he saw it reveal the foot of a woman, and as it climbed to her knee he marked the desperate tension of the clasped white hands that lay thereon:
"Poor soul," he muttered. "There is trouble there."
Higher still crept the beam of light till the whole figure was illumined, and then, as at the drawing aside of a curtain of darkness, the face of Barbara Winslow emerged slowly from the black shadow, and appeared before him bathed in a glory of light.
Barbara! Yes, though at first sight he barely knew her, barely recognised those pallid cheeks, the dropped jaw, the fixed, staring eyes wide with fear, all the agony of her terrified spirit written on her face.
He sprang forward with a cry and crossed the room to her side. She turned to him quickly and seized his outstretched hand, all other feelings submerged in the great terror that held her.
"Oh! I am frightened, I am frightened," she sobbed in utter abandonment. "Indeed I cannot bear it. Sure they cannot truly carry out the sentence? I could not endure it, it would kill me, and I cannot die yet. Help me, help me. Do not let them scourge me. I am so frightened, help me."
What could he do? He held both her hands tightly in his own, and passed his arm round her as though to shield her from all hurt. And she, forgetting all else in the face of this fear which she felt for the first time in her life, crouched against him in a paroxysm of trembling and sobbing.
"Oh! I know I am a base coward, but what can I do? For I was so happy, and life was so good, and now I—I, Barbara Winslow, must be scourged openly in the market-place by the common hangman, month after month, till assuredly I must die of the shame. Think! The troopers will watch and laugh, and I shall be—— Oh! no, no, indeed I cannot bear it; what shall I do!"