Then he retraced his steps to the deserted Glen, and knelt by the couch where Arabel had thrown herself. Her eyes were closed; one white hand lay above her head, half shaded by the rich fold, of her satin dress, that looked, with its glittering ornaments, better fitted for a bridal or a banquet, than for that lonely forest home.
“Mother,” she moaned, faintly, “I am not dying; I shall not die.”
“Arabel,” said Harris, softly.
“I did obey you, mother. I spoke my marriage vows, kneeling by the altar side,” she went on; “the priest’s white robes swept by us, and the holy prayers went softly up to God in the twilight.”
“Yes, Bel, we were married in proper order; but don’t stop to talk of that,” Harris said again. “I want to ask you how much misery you can bear?”
Slowly she opened her large dark eyes, and fixed them on his face. “I can bear all things, for I am strong,” she replied, quoting his own words on a former occasion.
Harris paused; a momentary shudder passed over him, and he asked, “Would you not like to be back to Italy?”
“Not yet,” she answered, for she feared the idea of being known and recognized as the pirate’s bride, and felt that she was not strong enough to carry out her two parts.
Then he told her how and why they must leave the Glen, pointed out the slight but perfect trail they had formed, and took his own pocket compass to show her how she could tell in what direction they each lay from each other.
The next morning there was no trace of human life at the Glen; but away across thick, densely-growing wood, and low, slimy swamps, where the high cliff rose in bold relief against the fiery eastern sky, two living beings could be seen upon the firm land, where a natural road wound round the brow of the rocky hill. They were Harris and Carl, the rest having left some time before, and they were now going to join them, leaving Arabel alone there in the large chamber which the earth’s convulsions had formed in the solid rock.