"Did you know him?" said Helen, as Elsie paused to take breath, for when she began to speak she spoke rapidly, and, conceal it as she would, it was evident she was in a fearful state of excitement.
"No," said Elsie; "but I think I have seen him before."
"Where is he, then?" cried Helen, holding her hand to her heart. "Is he there still?"
"No," cried Fanny, almost joyfully, "you gave him your horse to go and find Tom, and help him, didn't you, Elsie?"
And Helen screamed out in a terrible voice, "No, no! you did not, you did not—say you did not, girl!"
Elsie, who had turned whiter and whiter, turned to her suddenly.
"Yes, I did," she cried; "I did give him the horse."
Helen lifted her hands up over her head with an awful gesture of despair, and fell on her knees, catching hold of both the girls' dresses. But she held up and spoke.
"Oh, you wretched, unhappy girl!" she cried. "What have you done—what have you done? To whom did you give the horse? I know, I know! I saw him this very night—the man who swore to be revenged on him if it were after a century. The man who nearly killed him once, and who has escaped from prison. You have given him the means of killing your lover—you have given Tom Ticehurst up to Matthias, to a murderer—a murderer!"
And she fell back, and this time did not recover herself, but lay insensible, still holding the girls' dresses with as desperate a clutch as though she were keeping back from following me the man who was upon my track that terrible midnight. But Elsie stooped, freed her dress, and saying to Fanny, "See to her—see to her!" ran down to the stable again, just as her father rode through the higher gate.