Deppingham sprang to his feet with a fierce oath on his lips. His usually lustreless eyes were gleaming with something more than despair; there was the wild light of unmistakable relief in them. It was as if a horrid doubt had been scaled from the soul of Lady Deppingham's husband.
"We must follow!" shouted his lordship, preparing to lower himself into the jagged opening. "We may be in time!"
"Stop, Deppingham!" cried Chase, leaping to his side. "Don't rush blindly into a trap like that. Let's consider for a moment."
They had it back and forth for many minutes, the united efforts of the three men being required to keep the half-frantic Englishman from rushing alone into the passage. Reason at last prevailed.
"They've got an hour or more start of us," argued Chase. "Nothing will be accomplished by rushing into an ambush. They'd kill us like rats. Rasula is a sagacious scoundrel. He'll not take the entire responsibility. There will be a council of all the head men. It will be of no advantage to them to kill the heirs unless they are sure that we won't live to tell the tale. They will go slow, now that they have the chief obstacles to victory in their hands."
"If they will give her up to me, I will guarantee that Lady Agnes shall relinquish all claim to the estate," announced the harassed husband.
"They won't do that, old man. Promises won't tempt them," protested Chase. "We've got to do what we can to rescue them. I'm with you, gentlemen, in the undertaking, first for humanity's sake; secondly, because I am your friend; lastly, because I don't want my clients to lose all chance of winning out in this controversy by acting like confounded asses. It isn't what Sir John expects of me. Now, let's consider the situation sensibly."
In the meantime, the anxious coterie in the château were waiting eagerly for the return of the searchers. Night had fallen swiftly. The Princess and Drusilla were walking restlessly back and forth, singularly quiet and constrained. The latter sighed now and then in a manner that went directly to the heart of her companion. Genevra recognised the futility of imposing her sympathies in the face of this significant reserve.
Drusilla made one remark, half unconsciously, no doubt, that rasped in the ears of the Princess for days. It was the cold, bitter, resigned epitome of the young wife's thoughts.
"Robert has loved her for months." That was all.