"Pray, gentlemen, do not waste time quarreling; what does it matter now who fled and who pursued?"
At the sound of her voice, at once gentle and imperious, the two men dropped their warlike air, and Robin, who was astounded to recognize Prue in Sir Geoffrey's companion, seemed petrified into a statue of expectancy.
"If we can have a few minutes' privacy—?" she suggested.
Sir Geoffrey beckoned to the jailer, and after a murmured conference, enlivened by the clinking of coin, the latter consented to see that they were uninterrupted for as long as they wished.
While that was being arranged, Prue approached Robin with a timid air. "Master Robert de Cliffe—or Robin Freemantle"—she said, "I thank you for consenting to my wild scheme, and I pray you, forgive me if it seems heartless."
"Madam, I deem myself fortunate, if my death be of any use to you," he replied, with a ring of bitter sadness in his tone.
Prue, greatly surprised by the voice, which had none of the roughness of the robber's greeting on Bleakmoor, looked more closely at Robin, and discovered that he was young, handsome, and by no means ferocious-looking.
"I would not have you feel harshly toward me," she said, in a low, thrilling voice. "It is not too late, even now, for me to withdraw, if you deem me overbold."
A spasm of apprehension shivered through him. Had she brought his dream so near realization only to snatch it from him? Could a woman be so cruel to a dying man? He met her questioning look with one of agonized supplication. "Withdraw—now?" he muttered, unable to voice the prayer of his eyes. "Then why come at all—to mock me?"
But Prue was quick to read men's hearts, and what she saw in Robin's, translated his few abrupt words into a language that stirred hers to pity. Therefore, to console him (the jailer having by this time retired), she now threw off her wraps, and revealed such a vision of loveliness as fairly illuminated the dingy prison cell. His look of delighted surprise satisfied her.