“Is that you, Nally?” demanded the voice of the first, which Malcolm recognized as that of the governor.
“Yes, sir,” replied a husky, smoke-smothered voice.
“Take this key, then, and release the condemned prisoner. Slip these handcuffs upon her, and hurry her forward to the west-wing strong-room. Don’t let her escape in this confusion. I must go and look after the poor wretches above,” said the governor, in an agitated voice, as he hurried away to the other end of the lobby.
Malcolm groped along, keeping as near as he could to the figure that he still felt rather than saw moving before him. Screams of “Fire” and “Help” still came from the condemned cell, which now, like the lobby, was as dark as pitch. Malcolm came up with the other just at the cell door. He held his breath with suspense, but the invisible figure beside him breathed quickly and fiercely as they stood there together.
A panic of astonishment transfixed Malcolm as he felt that hot breath upon his cheek. An instant, and the cell door was unlocked and thrown open, and Mrs. Barton, distracted with fright, rushed out past them, to make good her escape from the burning building. Another instant and the mysterious figure, who had plunged into the darkness of the cell, issued forth, and dropped a light, soft burden upon Malcolm’s breast, whispering fiercely:
“She is saved! Fly for your life and hers; look not behind you!”
Oh, Heaven! it was Annella’s voice! And she had kept her word!
But he felt that there was not an instant to lose. Pressing the light form of the girl close in his arm, he ran along through the darkness and the suffocating smoke, through the lobby, and down the stairs, and out into the free air.
The smoke, the darkness, the crowd, and the panic befriended him. He passed the bounds of the prison unobserved, and hurried on towards the thicket where his horse was tied. As he pressed through the dark crowd without, he heard many remarks.
“The fire broke out in the prison wardrobe-room, where they keep the clothing,” said one.