In another instant he was beneath the balcony, forced forward by the chattering apes who were guarding him.
But he heard a voice above his head—above their curses and their clamour—a soft, sweet voice, crying out: “I’ll come to you! I will come!”
Chapter Thirty Five.
To the Prison.
“I’ll come to you! I will come!”
True to the intention thus proclaimed, Blanche Vernon glided back into the room; and, hastily laying hold of hat and cloak, was making for the stair.
“You mad, missa!” cried the mulatto, throwing herself into the doorway with the design of intercepting her. “What will you fadda say? Dat’s danger outside ’mong dem noisy sojas. For lub ob de good Jesus, Missy Blanche, doan tink ob goin’ down to de ’treet?”
“There’s no danger. I don’t care if there is. Stand out of the way, Sabby, or I’ll be too late. Stand aside, I tell you!”