"I believe you; now, Ellen, I hasten to perform a deed which will, I am sure, cover a multitude of my errors."
"Adieu! God speed you my noble, dear friend."
"Adieu! I will do what I can—I will do my best—but remember I may be too late—the way is far, and the hour near. Is your dagger free in its sheath?"
With these ominous words Juana left, after first embracing Ellen like a sister, as she might indeed have proved but for George Ravensworth's early death. When she was gone Ellen bolted the door, and then loosened her dagger.
"Danger near, and of what kind?" she asked herself. "I am prepared. Oh! my God grant she may arrive in time. Oh, let me not have to die with rescue and hope so near." She then sat down, and thought of all these strange events. How wonderful all seemed! How passing strange! Juana her brother's love—her lover's mistress—the Italian minstrel! How would she rescue her from her coming danger, and what was that danger? Then she thought of Juana's noble self-denial, and all for her, because she loved her departed brother—this was love! With these and a thousand other thoughts her mind was busy, and two hours glided imperceptibly away.
The daylight had now quite faded, and in its place the cold beam of the moon shone through the barred lattice, and softly travelled across the floor. The room was quite light, for the full orb was directly in front, but it was a chilly, ghastly light. Ellen, wrapped in her own thoughts, did not allow her mind to dwell on this, when all at once she thought she heard footsteps on the stairs. It must be fancy; but no! distinct and clear she heard them again. Oh! mercy above; the danger was come, and Juana not returned. It might be the Earl though, and she flew across the room to the door. She heard rude voices! it was not him, and she double barred the door.
"At least," she thought, "it will guard me for a time."
She felt if her blade was secure—it was beneath the folds of her dress. She stood in awful suspense, as near the door as she could—the footsteps drew nearer and several oaths struck her ears. She knew the voice, but in her dismay could not think whose it was—there seemed to be several men, as far as she could judge, ascending the steps. They landed on the passage—another moment of awful agony, of breathless apprehension, and the handle of the lock was tried.
"Thousand devils, it's bolted. Tony, open wench!" said a harsh voice she knew to be Antonia's or Juana's father.
No answer, of course.