“No, you don’t,” Tom replied. “I nearly broke my neck getting you out, and I am going to keep you. Then, you see, you didn’t run away. You were abducted, against your will, and if they find you, I’ll say so. I’ll take the brunt. I’ve sworn it.
“I’m glad you fainted,” Tom continued, “or you might have resisted. I found you all huddled down in your chair, just ready to tumble on the floor. A streak of lightning showed me where you were, and I tell you I had a tussle to get you up to the window and then to get you through, your legs were so almighty long. You did scrape your forehead some on a sharp point of iron. I could never have managed you without help.”
“Help!” Paul repeated. “I remember now. Some one was holding my head when I came to my senses. Who was it?”
Reaching out his arm, he felt Elithe’s dress and drew her towards him.
“Who is it?” he asked, in an eager voice. “Is it,—is it,—Clarice?
“Clarice be ——,” Tom began; then checked himself and said: “It’s Miss Elithe, and she worked like a nailer, too, and scratched her hand on that same jagged iron which rubbed your head. She’s a brick!”
“Elithe here in the darkness and rain,—to save me!” Paul exclaimed, getting Elithe’s hand in his.
“Yes, I am here,” Elithe replied, with a drawing in of breath, Paul held her wounded hand so tight.
All his thoughts of returning to his cell had vanished with its touch.
“It’s raining. You’ll be wet through. Let me take off my coat and cover you,” he said.