He rushed along a passage, ran upstairs faster than old age, were it ever so eager, could follow. But Fareham was nearly as fast—nearly, but not quite, able to overtake him; for he was older, heavier, and more broken by the fever of that night’s work than his colder-tempered rival.
Denzil was some paces in advance when he reached the muniment room. He found the opening in the wainscot, and the steep stair built into the chimney. Half way to the bottom there was a gap—an integral part of the plan—and a drop of six feet; so that a stranger in hurried pursuit would be likely to come to grief at this point, and make time for his quarry to escape by the door that opened on the garden. Memory, or wits sharpened by anxiety, enabled Denzil to avoid this trap; and he was at the door of the Priest’s Hole before Fareham began the descent.
Yes, she was there, kneeling in a corner, a candle burning dimly on a stone shelf above her head. She was in the attitude of prayer, her head bent, her face hidden, when the door opened, and she looked up and saw her betrothed husband.
“Denzil! How did you find me here?”
“I should be a poor slave if I had not found you, remembering the past. Great God, how pale you are! Come, love, you are safe. Your father is here. Angela, thou that art so soon to be my wife—face to face—here—before we leave this accursed pit—tell me that you did not go with that villain, except for the sake of your sick sister—that you were the victim of a heartless lie—not a party to a trick invented to blind your father and me!”
“I doubt I have not all my senses yet,” she said, putting her hand to her head. “I was told my sister wanted me, and I came. Where is Lord Fareham?”
The terror in her countenance as she asked that question froze Denzil. Ah, he had known it all along! That was the man she loved. Was she his victim—and a willing victim? He felt as if a great gulf had opened between him and his betrothed, and that all his hopes had withered.
Fareham was at his elbow in the next moment. “Well, you have found her,” he said; “but you shall not have her, save by force of arms. She is in my custody, and I will keep her; or die for her if I am outnumbered!”
“Execrable wretch! would you attempt to detain her by violence? Come, madam,” said Denzil, turning coldly to Angela, “there is a door on those stairs which will let you out into the air.
“The door will not open at your bidding!” Fareham said fiercely.