“How did he get the ring on to your wrist?” said Donal.
He looked closer and saw that her hand was swollen, and the skin abraded.
“He forced it on!” he said. “How it must hurt you!”
“It does hurt now you speak of it,” she replied. “I did not notice it before.—Do you suppose he left me here to die?”
“Who can tell!” returned Donal. “I suspect he is more of a madman than we knew. I wonder if a soul can be mad.—Yes; the devil must be mad with self-worship! Hell is the great madhouse of creation!”
“Take me away,” she said.
“I must first get you free,” answered Donal.
She heard him rise.
“You are not going to leave me?” she said.
“Only to get a tool or two.”