“What you have said is quite true, and no one would expect any less from your Honor,” replied Helen Hinckley; “but there is an old law concerning self preservation. Your Honor recalls it, does he not? Yes? Well, then, you may be compelled, in order to carry out the law, to keep out of sight of these fanatics—these would-be revolutionists—until they are taught to remember—until they see the power of the Light Divine.”
“Hist! hist!” both the Governor and Helen Hinckley heard the warning which came through a door that led into the room where they stood, from an adjoining room.
In another instant, the clear, piping voice of the old man who had uttered such revolutionary sentiments at the meeting of these disturbers of peace, called out in hushed tones: “Find him, boys; find him. He’s not in his bed. I thrust daggers all over it. Then I climbed on it and crushed my heels on every part of it; but he was not there. Our brave leaders are behind the bars, boys, and we are handicapped. Now this imposter and enemy of the church must die! Come, boys. Forward, march!”
Helen Hinckley pulled the Governor’s ear close to her mouth, and said: “Your Honor, to stay here means instant death. The physical power of two people against one hundred or more is of no avail. Come; you must leave this room with me through the outside door. You must this moment feel the force of being able to overcome the law of gravitation. Slip your hands under the strap across the back of this small propeller; step on top of the railing on the balcony; trust me; do what I whisper into your ear, and we will escape. You must come, if not for your own sake, for mine,” she concluded.
“I will go, my life, for your sake,” said the Governor, his voice full of emotion.
At once Helen Hinckley led him onto the balcony. He stepped with her on top of the railing. He put the cap of his long black dressing gown over his head, and with no support except the arm of Helen Hinckley, which she had quietly slipped through his, he walked out with his companion into space.
The leader of the revolutionary party and his many followers, who were seeking his life, at that moment stepped into the room they had just left. The cool breeze of the early morning rushed in through the open door, feeling which, the old man at once exclaimed: “He has escaped; a door is open, if I am not mistaken. A light will soon settle the question.”
No sooner was the idea given voice, than several of the men present pressed the end of the miniature torches they carried in their pockets, and instantly the room was ablaze with light. With these small torches in hand they rushed to the open door, with the vain hope that they might catch the runaway.
“We are misled,” piped the old man. “No human being could have escaped from this small balcony, without the use of ropes and ladders. And none are here. We are misled! We are misled. Forward—march!” he cried, after military fashion. “We will search every nook and corner of this great mansion, until we find him. We will not be stopped. We are powerful, and will slay every one in our path who objects to the course we are taking.”
The old man was frantic—frantic from the thought that they might fail in taking the life of the Governor.