Deliverance awakened happily the next morning for she had been dreaming of home, but as she glanced around her, her smile vanished. Nevertheless, her heart was lighter than it had been for many days. Moreover, she was refreshed by slumber and was surprised to find she enjoyed her breakfast.
She no longer dreaded the anticipated visit of Sir Jonathan. He seemed only an evil dream which had passed with the night. Yet when she heard the tap of his awful stick in the corridor, and his voice at the door, she had no doubt he was a terrible reality. So great was her fear that she could not raise her voice to greet him when he entered, although, remembering her manners, she rose and, despite the clanking chain, courtesied.
He came in pompously, flinging the flaps of his cape back, revealing his belted doublet and the sword at his side.
“’Tis o’er close and warm in here,” he said; “methinks you have forgotten a seat for me, goodman.”
“Ha’ patience, ha’ patience,” muttered the old jailer, “I be no so young and spry as ye, your lordship.” Grumbling, he left the cell.
While Sir Jonathan waited, he leant against the door-casing, swinging his cane in time to a song he hummed, paying no attention to the little maid. The jailer brought him a three-legged stool. He seated himself opposite the little maid, saying naught until the old man had closed the door and turned the key.
Deliverance dared not raise her eyes.
Sir Jonathan observed her sharply from underneath his steeple-hat, his hands clasped on the top of his walking-stick.
This little witch appeared harmless enough, with the fringe of yellow hair cut straight across her round forehead. The rosy mouth was tightly compressed; from beneath the blue-veined lids, two tears forced themselves and hung on her eye-lashes.