On the entrance of Blizzard, the woman took up the remains of the soup, and passed noiselessly out of the room.
Blizzard climbed to the foot of Wilmot's bed, and sat looking at him. In his eyes there was a glitter of suppressed excitement. "When our last talk was interrupted," he said, "I had just told you that Miss Ferris is a prisoner in this house. You don't like the idea?"
Wilmot shuddered and made a convulsive effort to break the handcuffs. He struggled with them in desperate silence for nearly a minute.
"I might break them," said Blizzard, "but you can't. Try to be as reasonable as you can. Miss Ferris is in no immediate danger. I am going to let her go, if you and I can agree."
"What do you want me to agree to?"
"I've had it in mind for a long time. It was why I relieved you of money cares, and sent you West. I wished to put you in a state of perfect health before trying an experiment of the utmost interest and value to science. Only your consent is now wanting. Upon that consent depends Miss Ferris's fate. Refuse and I leave your lover heart to imagine what that fate may be. She is absolutely in my power--absolutely. Do you know her writing?"
He smiled a little and held before Wilmot's eyes a sheet of note-paper.
"She has just written it," he said, "of her own free will."
Wilmot read: "I will marry you, as soon as I know that Wilmot Allen is out of your power and safe in life and limb."
A sort of ecstasy, half anguish and half delight, thrilled through Wilmot. The writing was unmistakably Barbara's--and she was ready to make that sacrifice for him!