"No," she answered quickly. "No; you must go."
"And you must do nothing to associate yourself with me in any way. It was a chance that Martin brought me here, more of my contriving than his —do you understand? All you know of Gilbert Crosby is that he once came to your assistance at Newgate."
She did not answer immediately. In the darkness Crosby could hear a little quick intake of her breath and a slight rustle of her gown.
"Does Martin go with you?" she asked after a pause.
"A little way to put him on the road; then I shall return to
Aylingford," Fairley said.
"You must not. It will not be safe for you."
"Never fear, mistress. Lord Rosmore cannot remain here, and no one else will care a jot whether Mad Martin comes or goes. Come, there must be no more delay. You must be back in your room if they should chance to call for you when they return from the ruins. Indeed, you must contrive to let them know that you are there. You will wait for me, Mr. Crosby. Your hand once more, mistress."
She stretched out her arm, and her hand was taken, but it was not Martin who took it.
"Thank you for all you have done for me," whispered Crosby. "It is more than you have knowledge of; as yet, it is almost beyond my own comprehension. There will come happier times—quickly, I trust—then I may thank you better. Then, I would have you remember something more of Gilbert Crosby than that he came to you that day in Newgate."
Then lips were pressed upon her hand, homage and reverence in the touch.