Vijal was silent.
“What do you want?” said he, at last. “Whatever you want to do I will help you. I will be your slave.”
“I wish to escape.”
“Come then—you shall escape,” said Vijal.
Without uttering another word he walked on and Beatrice followed. Hope rose once more within her. Hope gave strength. Despair and its weakness had left her. After about half an hour’s walk they reached the park wall.
“I thought it was a poacher,” said Vijal, sadly; “yet I am glad it was you, for I can help you. I will help you over the wall.”
He raised her up. She clambered to the top, where she rested for a moment.
“God bless you, Vijal, and good-by!” said she.
Vijal said nothing.
The next moment she was on the other side. The road lay there. It ran north away from the village. Along this road Beatrice walked swiftly.