“Presently, perhaps,” answered Crispin in a gentle tone, “but I want to talk to you first.”
Freda was still too benumbed with cold and fright to offer much resistance. Finding that her hands were blue and stiff and that she looked starved and miserable, Crispin lifted her right off her feet, and, without heeding her weak ejaculations of protest, carried her out of the stable, holding her with her face against his shoulder, so that she could not see. Freda protested and tried to cry out, but he only laughed at her.
“Oh,” she cried hoarsely, when she found that Crispin stopped to turn the key in a lock, “don’t take me into that dreadful house again; I shall go out of my senses if you do.”
“No, you won’t.”
He spoke rather peremptorily, and she was cowed into silence. The next moment she heard the tramp of his feet on stone flags and heard the echo of every step, so that she fancied they must be passing through a passage or chamber with a vaulted stone roof. In spite of the warnings she had received, she first tried to lift her head and look round, and being checked in this attempt by the wary Crispin, she suddenly endeavoured to jump out of his arms. He laughed grimly.
“Don’t you ever intend to learn prudence?” he asked.
Freda was desperate.
“No,” she cried with determination. “I don’t care what happens to me as long as I have to stay in this wicked place, and if my curiosity causes me to be sent away any sooner, why, I shall be very glad.”
“I suppose it depends where you will be sent away to?”
“No. I would rather be anywhere in the world, yes, anywhere than here.”