“My dear, dear child, you talk wildly!” said Malcolm, uneasily.
“I do not, even when I reiterate that Eudora shall be saved, while all the world, except us three, shall believe that she has perished!”
“Annella, you speak of impossibilities!”
“You will find before three days shall have passed over our heads, that I have converted those impossibilities into certainties.”
Malcolm Montrose bowed his head upon his breast, and remained a few moments in deep and anxious thought. Then looking up he said:
“I have been vainly taxing my brain to discover what your scheme may be; but I cannot find it out; I cannot even imagine what it is.”
“No, I presume not,” replied Annella.
“You are not perhaps dreaming of such an impracticability as taking her place and dying in her stead?” inquired Malcolm, dubiously.
Annella laughed a low, weird, unnatural laugh, as she replied:
“No, for that, indeed, would be impossible; though, could it be otherwise, I would gladly attempt it, since it is so much easier to die one’s self than to see a dear friend die! But such is not my plan, for it would be, as you say, impracticable. I should be found out in an hour. Besides, even to attempt such a plan would require the connivance of her warders, which you know cannot be gained for love or money. No, Mr. Montrose, what I do shall be accomplished without the assistance, connivance, or even knowledge of any soul within or without the prison! It shall be accomplished by myself singly!” said Annella, proudly.