“You brave little woman!” said Adam, his own courage leaping to greet this intrepid spirit in his sweetheart. “I believe you can do it! We shall win!”
“Come back as early as you can,” said Garde, on whom a thought of the lonely part of the business was suddenly impressed. “It won’t seem long. And when it is over, I shall feel so glad I could do a little thing for Goody. We must hurry. Every moment may be precious!”
“But, lassie——” the jailer tried to insist once more, “you——”
“Please don’t talk any more,” said Garde. “Take me to her now. And when somebody looking like me comes back, let her go out by Mrs. Weaver’s door with Mr. Rust.”
“Yes, I, but——”
“In the King’s name, no more talk,” interrupted Adam. Then he turned to Garde. “You won’t be timid, little mate?” he said. “I shall not be gone past midnight at the most.”
“I shall be so glad to think I am leaving Goody in your strong, dear hands,” said Garde, with a smile of love in her eyes. “Good-by, dear,—good night, till the morning.”
She kissed him, and smiling at him bravely, followed the jailer, who saw that his place in the jail depended now on compliance with Adam’s and Garde’s demand. The tremulous pressure of her little hand in his remained with Adam when she had gone. He wondered if he were doing well, thus to let his sweetheart assume poor Goody’s place. Then his own boldness of spirit rebuked him and he laughed at the imaginary scene of the magistrates, when they should finally discover their trial to be nothing but a farce.
Weaver meantime took a candle in his hand and led the way down the corridor of the prison. Garde hesitated when she saw him descending the steps.
“Why—where is she?” she asked, timidly.