"Then God's will be done—you will at least stand by me in my distress."
"And now, madam, will you not retire to rest?—you need fear nothing."
"No, I will not; I trust you—I do not those who are here besides. I will not—I could not sleep, and yet I do not fear; I have secreted a dagger—see it," she cried, holding a small Indian blade which she had contrived to possess herself of unseen by Sir Richard, and which had belonged to her eldest brother; "before Ellen Ravensworth submits to wrong she will bury this in her heart—death before dishonour."[G]
"Keep it, lady; you may require it yet," said Juana, in a low tone.
"Oh, my God, shield me; but what said you—you do then know why I am here?"
"I guess, but cannot be certain; keep your weapon, I will not deprive you of your last resource; but let no one else know of it—there are those here who would."
The young Spaniard then arose, saying, "You need fear no harm to-night—rest, for you are weary with crying, and terror; I pledge my sacred word no one enters this room to-night."
"Then I will trust you, you could not play me false; but I part not with thee," she said, addressing the dagger; "thou wilt be a sure friend."
The two young girls then retired to rest; Juana slept, not so Ellen, who lay awake the livelong night, conjecturing in vain why she was there. Three things consoled her: first her trust in a higher Power; secondly her faith in the Earl, who she knew was even then searching for her, and as she could not be very far she had hopes he might soon find her out; her third and last consolation, was the knowledge that in her extremity death was in her own power.
Slowly the hours of darkness rolled away—oh! how long they seemed, as she tossed on her restless pillow, and listened to the heavy fall of the sentinel's step that guarded her room's entrance,—it was probably the fierce-looking old man who she had found out was her companion's father; she was surely a mild offspring from so rough a sire! The more Ellen thought the more inextricable seemed the web she strove to unravel—why was she there—who had he been who brought her—who were those rough men, and this fair girl who guarded her? She tried to recall voices she felt sure she had heard, first her arrestor's, secondly the lady's who guarded her—she felt sure she had heard both, but where she could not recollect.