Helen. I am sorry you stayed here with me. Perhaps—Hark! What was that? What was that? Was it not Maitland they said then? It was—it is—Don't grasp me so.
Jan. Nay—what would you do?
Helen. I must speak with them. Let go my arm! Do you not hear? 'Tis Maitland they are talking of. How strangely that blessed name sounds in those tones!
Jan. You must not—we have tempted Heaven already—this is madness.
Helen. Let go, Janette. It is not you they seek. You can conceal yourself. You shall be safe.
Jan. She is wild! Nay, I was mad myself, or I should never have stayed here. It were better to have lived always with them, than to be murdered thus.
(Helen opens the window, and stands for a moment, looking silently down into the court. She turns away, shuddering.)
Helen. Can I meet those eyes again?
(Again the name of Maitland mingles with the wild and unintelligible sounds that rise from without.)
Helen. Can I? (She turns to the window.) What can it mean? His own beautiful steed! How fiercely he prances beneath that unskilful rein. Where's your master, Selma, that he leaves me to be murdered here? A letter! He bids me unfasten the door, Janette.