“Indeed! And to you—had you been in time to set him free? How then?”
Marion had turned her back upon her taunting interrogator, and was moving towards the door—to avoid the unpleasantness of any further parley with one whose words, as well as actions, had already given her so much pain.
“Stay!” cried her tormentor, as if delighted to continue the persecution. “You appear disappointed, at not having an opportunity to show your friendship for Master Holtspur. You may do something yet, if you have a mind. I dare ye to take my place, and let me go out. If you do, I’ll let him know of it the first time I see him. I know that that would be doing him a service. Now?”
“Away, rude girl! I decline your absurd proposition. I shall hold no further speech with you.”
As the lady said this, she stretched forth her hand, and rapped against the door—making as much noise as her trembling fingers were capable of, and without any regard to the precautions with which she had been charged by the sentry.
Withers was waiting outside. The key turned quickly in the lock; and the door was once more held open.
The lady glided silently out, and on through the wicket, without staying to speak a word of thanks.
But she had thanked the sentry in advance, and was thinking no more of his services.
As she looked forth from the wicket, the storm, for some hours threatening, had burst; and the rain was descending like a deluge upon the earth.
She stayed not under the shelter of the arched entrance—she did not think of staying; but stepped fearlessly over the threshold, and out into the open way—reckless of the rain, and daring the darkness.