"Oh! let me fly and tell her," cried Helen vehemently. "She must be saved, she must be saved.--I will go to her, I will go to her!--I will stay with her.--I will stab him first with my own hand!"
"Be calm, be calm," replied the priest; "there is no need of that. We can frustrate him as easily, and more innocently. There is a door from my chamber into hers. It is unlocked or can be speedily opened. By it you can go to her and tell her all. Let her know that De Montigni is living, that the rumour of his death was but a fraud. Tell her how they are practising against her peace. Bid her be firm and constant, and she shall have aid, when least she expects it. Stay with her if you will--or rather bring her forth into my chamber. There she can pass the night in security, and return with first dawn of morning. And now let us hasten away, Helen, for this must be done, my child, before the clock strikes one. I have to watch here; but to prevent this deed is a higher duty, and I may well be spared for a few minutes. And God's blessing be upon your endeavours."
Thus saying, he led her from the chapel, through the old hall and the corridor beyond, and then up the stairs, feeling his way by the hand-rope that ran along the wall. All was dark and silent; not a sound stirred in the house; and nothing but a faint ray of the moonlight, which shot across from a window halfway up the staircase, gave them any light in their course.
Opening the door of his own chamber, as quietly as possible, the priest led Helen in; and then striking a light, he showed her the door which led to the apartments of Rose d'Albret. It was locked, but the key was in the inside and easily turned; and, ere they opened it, Walter de la Tremblade once more embraced his niece, saying, "I must find another time to comfort thee, my poor child; but the best comfort will be vengeance on those who have wronged thee. Now go, and make no noise. Speak to her in a whisper. Bid her rise at once and follow thee, if she regards her safety, and her honour. Then lock both these doors, and rest in peace for this night. I will be with you early in the morning; but I have much to do ere then."
Thus saying, he kissed her brow, and left her; and Helen opening the door, but leaving the light upon the table, crept softly into the room of Mademoiselle d'Albret. Poor Rose, wearied and exhausted with all that she had lately gone through, had at length fallen into slumber. The curtains of her bed were thrown back; and there she lay like a beautiful statue on a tomb, her face pale with grief and weariness, the bright eyes closed, the long black lashes resting on her cheek, and one fair hand crossing her heaving bosom in all the languid relaxation of sleep. The light streamed faintly in upon her from the neighbouring chamber, and seemed to produce some effect upon her slumbers; for a faint smile passed over her lip, as Helen stood for an instant to gaze at her, and she murmured the word "Louis."
"She has happy dreams," said Helen to herself, "yet I must disturb them;" and she laid her hand gently upon that of her friend.
Rose started up with a look of wild surprise, but Helen laid her finger on her lips as a sign to be silent, and then whispered, "Rise instantly, dearest Rose, and come with me into the next room. Be quick, if you would save your honour and your peace! You know not what they machinate against you."
Rose gazed at her for a moment in surprise, as if scarcely comprehending what she meant: but then a sudden look of terror came over her; and, rising without a word, she took some thin clothing, and followed whither her companion led.
Helen drew the curtains close round the bed, and then guided the lady to the priest's chamber. While passing the door, they heard a murmur, as of low voices speaking in the ante-room, and Helen then turning the key in the lock as silently as possible, pointed to an ebony crucifix, with a small ivory figure of the dying Saviour nailed upon it, which stood upon the table, rising above a skull. She led Rose d'Albret towards it; and, kneeling down together, they prayed.
When they rose, Mademoiselle d'Albret would fain have asked explanations, but Helen whispered to be silent; and making her lie down in the priest's bed, she knelt by her side, drew the curtain round to deaden the sound of her voice, and then, in a low murmur, related all she had to tell. The first news that she gave were the joyful tidings that De Montigni still lived; and Rose clasped her hands gladly, giving thanks to God. But at Helen's farther intelligence, horror and consternation took possession of her. "Oh, heaven!" she said, "what will become of me, if they have recourse to such means as this?--Where shall I find safety?"