She remained there for two days, without seeing any one but the negro girl Polly, who three times a day came to the room to replenish the fire and to bring her meals. From Polly, Betsy learned that Mrs. Gilcrest was ill and confined to her room, and that Major Gilcrest was preparing for a journey, and purposed taking his daughter with him. He sent by Polly a curt note which further enlightened Betty of his intentions. She was directed to pack her clothes and be in readiness to start with him for Massachusetts as soon as her mother's health would allow him to leave home. He also informed Betsy that he meant to leave her in Massachusetts at a boarding-school.
Instead of obeying her father's command, Betsy spent her solitary hours in trying to hit upon some mode of escape from her prison, or at least for some means of communicating with her lover.
On the third night of her imprisonment she retired early, feeling that she would need all her strength for the morrow's struggle; for she was fully resolved that no power on earth should be strong enough to compel her to leave home with her father. She was exhausted, and soon fell asleep. In the night she was awakened by some one shaking her and calling her name softly. She opened her eyes, and found Aunt Dilsey standing over her with a lighted candle in one hand.
"Sh—, sh—, honey, don't mek no noise!"
"How did you get here?" asked Betsy, sitting up in bed and now thoroughly roused.
"I stole de key f'um de nail in de hall, an' den slipped up de sta'rs. I allus walks jes lak a cat, you knows, so Marse Hi didn't heah me. But nebbah min' dat now. Git up quick, an' do whut I tells you. I'se gwineteh he'p you 'scape to Marse Abner, dis berry hour. He's waitin' fur you on his nag down to de bars at de eend ob de leetle woods pastur', an' he'll tek you straight to de preachah's house, an' you kin be married right off."
"But, mammy," began Betsy.
"Shet up, chile, an' do ez I says. It's yo' on'y chance; fur onct Marse Hi gits you 'way f'um heah, it'll be many a long day foh you sees yo' sweetheart ag'in. I tell you yo' pap's thet desprut dar's no tellin' whut he woan do teh keep you an' yo' sweetheart 'part. So doan let me heah no 'jections, but jes' listen to me. You'se to slip out frew de ole log-room heah—you carn't git out frew de hall; fur yo' pap'll heah you, shore, kaze his door's open, an' you knows he allus sleeps wid one eye an' bofe years open. But you go inteh de log-room, an' clamb out by de windah. See! Heah's a rope I done mek outen bedclothes. We'll tie it to de bed-post, an' it's plenty long 'nough to reach most to de groun' frew de windah, whut hain't more'n twelve or fou'teen foot f'um de groun'. 'Sides, dar's notches all down de wall outside whah de chinkin's done fell out. So you kin hold ontah de ropes, put yo' foots in de gaps, an' git down ez easy ez ef 'twuz on sta'r steps."
The chamber Betsy occupied was in the ell of the house, and communicated through a closet with the upper room of the old log house of two rooms which had been left standing when the new house was built. The lower apartment of this old structure was now used as a weaving-room.
"But why not go down through the window of the lower room?" asked Betsy.