“Ah, I thought they would interdict her visits, poor child! She is so rash in her zeal for me. Do you know, Malcolm, that she even tried to bribe Mrs. Barton here to let her change clothes with me, so that I might escape in hers? Did she tell you?”
“No, she never told me that; but I know she would run any risk on earth for you, dearest, and so I am not surprised to hear it.”
“I wonder if the attempt came to the ears of the officers, and if that was the reason why they stopped her visits?”
“No, Miss—oh, no, because there was nobody to tell but me, and I never dropped a hint of it,” Mrs. Barton hastened to say.
“No, that was not the reason, dear Eudora; it was because she was considered too young and flighty to do you any real good by her visits, which it was also feared might disturb you,” said Malcolm.
“And shall I see her no more?”
“Oh, yes; she called at my lodgings this morning to tell me why she has not been to see you these two days, and to send you her love, with the assurance that she would come on Tuesday, having the sheriff’s promise of permission to do so.”
Eudora shivered, for she remembered that Tuesday was the last day of her allotted life, and knew that Annella’s next visit would be also her last one.
The hour of grace sped quickly away, and Malcolm arose to go. He stooped and pressed his farewell kiss upon Eudora’s brow. He dared not trust himself to speak; he was thinking how swiftly the sands of her life were running out. But one more quiet visit, and then—the dreadful parting interview on Tuesday night—and then, unless the unknown scheme of Annella should succeed—as he did not dare to hope—death for Eudora and endless despair for himself! So he pressed his parting kiss in silence on her brow, and turned away.
Mrs. Barton happened to be relieved of her guard by the entrance of the other warder, and she left the cell at the same moment with Mr. Montrose.