"Winifred!" he exclaimed. "My God!"
He snatched his knife from his pocket, removed the gag from her mouth, and cut all her bonds. Her hands tried nervously to rearrange her dress over her bosom. He tore off his own coat and threw it over her.
"Are you badly hurt?" he asked anxiously.
"I am not hurt much," she answered weakly, "but—"
"But what?" he demanded.
She commenced to cry softly but insistently. Black fear rose up to torture him. "But what?" he repeated, with sinking heart.
"It has gone!" she murmured, crossing her hands upon her bosom.
"What has gone?" he asked. "Quick!"
"The deed!" she whispered. "Don't look at me like that. I couldn't help it. It was a trap, of course, to get me here, and I was a fool. The letter was from you, but I ought to have known that it was a forgery. I was taken unawares. She was like a madwoman. She would have torn the clothes from my body. I struggled. I called out. It was no use. She has taken it away."
"But you are not hurt?" he exclaimed anxiously.