All that he had seen, heard and felt during this morning’s visit to the prison, confirmed him in his resolution to keep faith with Annella, and he immediately set about making all external arrangements for a possible rescue.
Annella might be mad; her unknown scheme might be vain, useless, dangerous, fatal. There might not be one chance in a million of its success; yet it was the only hope of rescue for Eudora, and as the despairing snatch at the very shadow of hope, he resolved to embrace it.
Good reason had the kind-hearted wardress to dread the ordeal to which Eudora’s fortitude was soon to be subjected. Mrs. Barton had just gone into the cell to take her afternoon’s turn at guarding the prisoner, when several footsteps were heard approaching, the door was unlocked, and the sheriff, attended by the gaoler, entered.
The manner of the sheriff was grave even to solemnity; that of the gaoler was very sorrowful.
Eudora hastily arose from her recumbent posture, and sat up, glancing in surprise and vague dread, but without the least suspicion of their errand, upon the intruders.
Mrs. Barton, who knew what was coming, got up and passed towards the door, crying:
“Let me go away, Mr. Anderson—please, sir, do! I can’t stand it—indeed, sir, I can’t!”
“Stay where you are, woman,” answered the governor, in a low voice.
And Mrs. Barton, forced to obey, sank trembling into her seat.
“This is Mr. Rushton, the sheriff of the county, Miss Leaton, who has some business with you this afternoon,” said the gaoler, in a faltering voice, as he presented the visitor.