"I will," said Bonnibel, struggling to a sitting posture in Lucy's supporting arms. "I am quite strong, Lucy, I shall not faint, I give you my word, I will not! Go on with your story!"
"I mustn't—you can't stand it," answered the girl, hesitating.
"Go on," Bonnibel said, with a certain little authoritative ring in her voice that Lucy had always been wont to obey.
"If I must then," said Lucy, reluctantly, "but there's but little more to tell. Mr. Dane got away and they never caught him till the night of your grand masquerade ball when Colonel Carlyle recognized him. The next day he had him arrested and put in a French prison on the charge of murder."
"And now?" asked Bonnibel, in horror-struck accents.
"And they all sailed for the United States more than two weeks ago," answered Lucy, sadly. "Mr. Dane to his trial, and Colonel Carlyle, Mrs. Arnold and Miss Felise Herbert to testify against him."
"More than two weeks ago," repeated Bonnibel like one dazed.
"I heard some men talking about it," Lucy went on, "and they said that if Mr. Dane couldn't prove his absence at the time of the murder he would certainly get hung."
A moan was Bonnibel's only response.
"So you see, my dear young mistress, that his only chance rests on your evidence, and we must start right away if we are to get there to save him!"