“Miss Dalton,” said he, “you said you would be mine.”
{Illustration: “THEN HE DROPPED HER HAND, AND TURNED AWAY."}
Edith's lips moved, but no sound escaped them.
“All that you have said, Miss Dalton,” he continued, “I feel most deeply, most keenly; but how else could it have been? Yet if you will indeed be mine, I will give you my love and gratitude. I will save you from—from danger; I will—will—bless you.” He stopped, and looked at her with quivering lips, while an expression of agony came across his face.
But Edith's eyes were downcast now, and she did not see this new anguish of his; her own distress was too great.
Dudleigh dropped her hand again.
“Where shall it be?” said he, hurriedly and nervously. “It can not be in the Hall. Will you venture to pass the gates with me?—I will force my way through—or are you afraid?”
“I can not consent to bloodshed,” said Edith.
“I thought of that,” said Dudleigh, “and I have one more plan—if you will only consent. It is not much to you who have suffered so much. It will make your way to freedom easy. Can we not meet in the park somewhere—in some secluded place?”
“In the park?” repeated Edith, abstractedly.