"No. I have thought of that. No one but I knows of the cave—at least I fancy so. I found it one day by chance. And no one would ever think of looking for you there. They would never think you had taken refuge in a cave."
"My dear, I can't admit guilt by running away."
"If you don't, my father will destroy you."
This was true enough, and undoubtedly Enistor would press on the charge as strongly as possible. Montrose wavered. "It might be reasonable to gain the delay," he muttered. "Oh, I wish Eberstein were here to advise."
As if in answer to his speech, one of the servants entered with a telegram, which proved to be from the doctor. Montrose opened it when the maid had left the room, and found the message rather cryptic: also unsigned, save by the initial "E." It ran: "Matthew x. 23, twelve words!"
"Look up the text, Alice," said the young man eagerly.
The girl, luckily having the Bible with her, rapidly skimmed over the leaves and took the book to the window to read the small print in the fast-failing light. "But when they persecute you in this city, flee ye into another," she read slowly, and would have continued the verse, but that her lover stopped her with a gesture.
"Those are the twelve words," he said, folding up the telegram. "The rest of the verse doesn't matter. So Eberstein wants me to fly. I wonder why," and he looked woefully disappointed.
"Take his advice," said Alice eagerly, and glad that such a powerful opinion backed her up. "You always obey him, you know."
"Yes. All the same I did not think he would tell me to sneak away. It seems to be cowardly: it seems like admitting guilt."