"Ye may be sure of that, my lord. And may Heaven grant you a speedy deliverance," she answered.
Faustina next came up to bid her good-by.
"Good-by! Good-by! my sweet, suffering angel. Bear up under your afflictions; fortify your mind by thinking of the martyred queens and heroines who have preceded you," said Mrs. MacDonald, weeping as she embraced Faustina.
"Good Heaven, I shall think of none of them! I shall think only of myself and my deliverance!" said Faustina, breaking from her.
They went downstairs, marshaled by the policemen. They entered the carriage, two policemen riding inside with them, and one on the box beside the coachman. And thus they commenced their stormy night journey.
CHAPTER XLII.
A BITTER NIGHT.
St. Agnes' Eve—ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was acold,
The hare limped trembling thro' the frozen grass;
And silent was the flock in woolly fold!
—Keats.
A freezing night. Faustina shook as with an ague-fit, and her teeth chattered like a pair of castanets, as she crouched down in one corner of the back seat and huddled all her wrappings close about her. But the cold still seemed to penetrate through all her furs and velvets and woolens and enter the very marrow of her bones.
Beside her sat the viscount, silent, grim, and still, as though he were congealed to ice. Before her sat the two policemen, well wrapped up in their greatcoats and thick shawls.