I remember when the door was opened she was standing there as if listening for something. When she saw us she came forward courteously.
“Take me away from here,” she exclaimed. “I’ve never been accustomed to it. It is dark and damp. I do not like it. Take me away.”
I was surprised at the quiet way in which she spoke, it was so unlike the rest whom we had visited.
“You must have patience,” Vestné declared. “You will get out safely enough when the time comes.”
I noticed, for I was looking at her closely, that at this her lips trembled, but still she answered, with no very apparent change in her voice,—
“I’ve been patient for a very long time, longer than anybody knows. Please take me away.”
“It is impossible,” Vestné assured her.
She now turned to me.
“Sir,” she said, “I am suffering. Take me away.”
I looked at her, but, beyond the sympathy I felt, knew I was powerless.