He went back swiftly, therefore, to the garret above, recognizing that no time must be lost, since, at any moment, that pale ghastly figure might arise from the couch and prepare for bed--and, when there, he lit once more his lanthorn. Next, he took hastily from his breast a small set of tablets which he carried--they had been Philip's once, and bore upon the case his name and their family crest--and hastily wrote:--
"Make no noise. Philip Vause's brother is here. To save you if need be. It is the truth, I swear. If you believe and wish to escape, open the door. To-night the chance is yours. Perhaps to-night only!--ANDREW VAUSE."
As quickly as he had come he went back to the door of the room, peered in once more through the slit of the little lattice, and, seeing that still the woman slept upon her couch, bent down towards the space where the light streamed out.
Then, his nerves tingling, for on the next few moments, and the woman's actions during them, depended all--his life, perhaps hers!--he pushed the tablets under the door, gave them a fillip with his hand which sent them a couple of feet into the room, and struck once upon the oak. Struck a sharp, quick blow, loud enough to awaken her, he thought, yet not loud enough to startle any others asleep in the dark and silent house.
He waited now for what should happen.
Nor had he long to do so ere he knew that the rap he had given had had its effect. He had re-closed the lattice tightly after he had come back from the garret, fearing to alarm her either by looking through it or by letting her find it open; he relied, therefore, upon his hearing. That hearing told him now that the woman had awakened--he heard a rustle of her garments, heard her feet touch the floor as she rose from the couch; heard, too, that she came swiftly towards where the tablets lay, the whiteness of the ivory catching, doubtless, her eyes as she arose.
In the silence that reigned in the house he could hear those tablets being picked up by her, almost hear the grating of the hard leaves against each other; did, without doubt, hear a gasp as his message was perused. Then silence--or a silence broken only by rapid, quickly-caught breathing. But no noise, no word from the woman on the other side of the door!
At last, however--when he himself could scarce restrain the breath from coming in great gusts from his lungs, so terrible was the suspense--he knew that she had moved again, was close against the door. Then a soft, low voice said--
"As you are a man and I a helpless, unhappy woman, is this true?"
"Before God and as a soldier, it is true."