There was a tone of sadness in the entreaty, which Holtspur could hardly have failed to notice. But the appeal had shaken his resolution to remain. From what she had said, he saw that in all probability the girl would get clear, or with some slight punishment. Perhaps she might succeed in deceiving the sentry still further, and escape without difficulty. Holtspur knew she was clever and quick-witted.
“Never fear for me, sir!” said she, as if interpreting his thoughts. “I can manage him. He’ll do what I want him to; I know he will.”
“If I thought that—”
“You may think it,” responded she, at the same time cutting the cords that bound the prisoner, “you may be sure of it. Leave him to me. Now, sir, the cloak. No, the skirt first. That’s the way to fix it. Now the cloak. Here! put your head into the hood—draw it well over your face. That’ll do. When you go out, don’t stop to speak to him. He’ll want to kiss you—I know that. You mustn’t let him, but keep quick on to the door. The wicket is on the latch. When you get outside you can run as fast as you like. Make for the trees at the top of the hill. There you will find father along with your own man, Master Garth. It’s dark as pitch outside. I’ll keep the lamp here till you get through the passage. I defy him to tell it isn’t me, if you don’t let him kiss you. Don’t do that; but pass him as rapidly as you can. Now you’re ready? Go!”
This long chapter of directions was spoken more quickly than it can be read. Before the final word was uttered, Bet Dancey had succeeded in disguising the prisoner.
She herself retained her complete dress—the only part of her left uncovered being her head and shoulders.
Holtspur gazed for a moment upon the generous boldly beautiful girl; and with a glance that told of tenderness. She might have mistaken it for a look of love. Alas!—for her sake, alas!—it was only the gaze of gratitude.
At that moment the sentry struck his halbert against the stoup—as if summoning them to a separation.
“Coming, Master Withers! I’m coming,” cried the girl in an under tone, at the same time placing her lips close to the keyhole, “open, and let me out!”
The bolt was turned briskly at the words. Withers was longing for that promised kiss. The door was reopened; and the cloaked figure glided forth into the darkness.