"Last night I heard words spoken out of the darkness," said Barbara.
"'It is a sacred trust,' said a voice; 'God requite you if you fail in
it. When she is of age give her that which is hers. She is free.
Beware.'"
There was magic in the words. Sir John let go her wrist and started backwards with a curious, muffled sound in his throat. His face was suddenly white with fear, and his trembling hands were linked together, straining at each other. Barbara did not move, and in her motionless attitude and the fixed gaze in her eyes the man seemed to perceive an added terror.
"Who spoke them?" he stammered.
"A voice out of the darkness."
"They—they recall—what am I saying? Have your own way to-night; we shall both talk more calmly to-morrow."
"To-morrow cannot undo to-night, sir. I have decided to ask Lady Bolsover to let me visit her for a while. Two days ago I received a letter from her asking me to go to her again."
"I will see. We will talk of it to-morrow."
"There is naught to do, sir, but arrange for my journey to town."
It was almost as one suddenly stricken with a palsy that Sir John left the room and stumbled along the corridor. As he passed a man drew hastily back into the shadows, and then went light-footedly to Barbara's door. She had already locked it. He knocked.
"I have nothing more to say," said Barbara.