They were not long ere they reached the foot of the stairs leading up to the place of Algernon's imprisonment--it seemed to him, indeed, marvellously short--and there he stopped to bid her farewell for the night. True, he might have done so as well above; but there the guards tenanted the ante-chamber; and feelings which he would not own to himself made him unwilling to have witnesses to his parting with her.
"Farewell, dear lady," he said, pressing her hand in his; "if you could tell the relief and pleasure you have afforded the poor prisoner, your heart would, I am sure, rejoice.--Nay, I feel that it does, though you cannot know from experience how tedious the hours of captivity are. Thanks--a thousand thanks--for the solace of the free air, rendered trebly bright by your sweet company."
"You have no thanks to give," she answered, leaving her hand in his; "do I not owe you everything? and, surely, a few hours from the life you have saved is but a poor offering for a grateful heart to make. To-morrow night, at the same hour, I know I may promise to come again, and perhaps my uncle will come with me. Till then, I must bid you adieu. Sleep well; and pleasant dreams be yours."
He still held her hand for a moment--he still gazed upon that fair and beaming face by the pale light of the lamp that hung upon the staircase, and sensations he could hardly master rose in his bosom. They frightened him, and, breaking suddenly the spell that held him, he turned and mounted to the chamber, where sat the men on guard. There, came another adieu, colder in seeming but not less warm in truth; and, entering, he himself closed the door. He heard her hand laid upon the key; but it did not turn, and the next instant her sweet voice reached his ear, somewhat trembling in tone, as she said to one of the guards--"Here, come and lock it--I cannot."
"Why, it goes as easy as a wheel," answered the man, advancing with a heavy foot; and the next moment the door was locked.
Agnes trod her way back with a slow and thoughtful step towards the corridor of the apartments of the Electress Dowager; but at the foot of the stairs she met her uncle Herbert, and the keen eye of affection soon discovered that, from some cause, he was agitated, though he endeavoured to maintain his usual equable mien.
"What is the matter?" she said, clinging to his arm; "you are disturbed--I see it in your eyes."
"'Tis nothing, my Agnes," he said, "nothing. So you have given your prisoner his little holiday. How did he comport himself?"
"He enjoyed it much," answered Agnes: "in his calm and serious manner, he showed as much pleasure as I hoped he would feel."
"Ay, but to you, my child," asked Herbert, "was there any difference this night?"