Templemore passed his hand over his face; the tears were coming into his eyes. When he tried to speak again, he felt half choking.
“You are a noble girl, Zonella,” he answered with emotion; “and when you appeal to me on their behalf you cannot know how hard it is to me to stay on here, knowing that I have the chance—just the chance—of saving them. But it cannot be, dear friend, it cannot be; but—I thank you. My whole heart thanks you.” He pressed her hand, and turned sorrowfully away.
Presently, she spoke again, this time in a different tone; indeed, her voice sounded hard and strained.
“Then Ergalon shall risk his life for you,” she said. “I know that which will induce him to attempt what to-day he said could not be done. I will seek him at once. For now, good-bye; do not go to bed, but be ready, if you hear some one at the window. You can reach it, if you stand up on the table.” And, without further explanation, she left him.
Templemore sat for long pondering upon this strange interview, and wondering too what she had planned; and the time seemed to drag wearily while he waited for some signal at the window.
It was about midnight, as he judged, when there came a tap, tap from the outside. He sprang on to the table; then by the dim light that came through the window he could discern the upper part of a man’s body swinging on a rope.
“Is that Ergalon?” he whispered.
“Yes,” came back the answer. “If I send you in a short rope and you wait till I have gone down, you can then pull in the rope I am on, get on to it, and come down yourself. Do you dare try it?”
“Yes.”
“Then here it is. Now wait till you find you can pull this one in.”