Margaret did not thank him in words, but her face was eloquent with gratitude. The sharp lines of anxiety softened, and an expression of relief succeeded.
She followed him through the long, damp corridor, until they stood before the cell tenanted by Jacob Wynne. Margaret was admitted, a faint light handed her, and then the door was locked as before.
The prisoner was stretched on the hard pallet, with his face buried in it. He seemed in a dull stupor, the result of his excessive fear. He did not even look up as the door was opened, but his frame shook with a convulsive tremor.
Margaret advanced to the bed, and kneeling, touched his arm gently, while she uttered his name softly.
“Jacob!”
He started, and looked wildly at his visitor. He did not seem to comprehend that it was Margaret in real presence who knelt beside him.
“Away! away!” he exclaimed, shuddering at her touch. “Why must I be tormented before my time?”
“Don’t you know me, Jacob? I am Margaret.”
He looked at her half in doubt, and said, sullenly, “What more do you want with me? Is it not enough that you have sent me here? Have you come to finish your work?”
“I have come to save you.”