She smiled as I said this. I knew how fascinating was her smile, but I had never seen it with such sadness in it; it was a thousand times more enthralling than before. ‘I will confide in you,’ she went on. ‘I will tell you why I am here in such a tempest; to do this, will be to confide in you most fully.—I will not sit down’—this was called forth by another offer of the only seat already mentioned—‘I will stand here’—she was standing in an angle behind the door, much screened by my desk and some books which were heaped upon it—‘then no chance or prying passer-by can see me.’
‘None will pass here for some time, Miss Cleabyrn,’ I said; ‘on such a night as this, on any night, indeed, the place is deserted; but take the precaution, if it will give you a feeling of greater safety.’
She did so; and then proceeded, firmly and collectedly—I was enabled afterwards to judge how much the effort cost her—to tell me what had brought her to my station. ‘You have heard of Captain Laurenston?’ she began.
I signified that I had done so.
‘You know that he is pursued by the police; and you know, I have no doubt, that he is the gentleman who was here in the early part of the summer?—I thought so. He is in this neighbourhood; is not far from here. He dares not enter our house at Elm Knoll, as that is not only under special watch, but we have reason to think that one or more of our servants are bought over, and would act as spies and informers. He cannot get away without assistance; and you, he thinks, are the only man he can trust.’
‘I am!’ I exclaimed. ‘Why, what can I do?’
‘Perhaps nothing; perhaps everything,’ replied Miss Cleabyrn. ‘He has been seen and recognised here, and every hour makes it more dangerous for him to linger. He knows he can trust you. I am sure of it too,’ she added, after a moment’s hesitation; ‘your very look justifies me in saying so much.’
Ah! she knew what my poor stupid looks had revealed, months before, and speculated rightly that I would have been taken out and shot dead on the line, rather than have betrayed her slightest confidence.
I told her that I would do anything to assist her, and the captain too. ‘In what way,’ I continued, ‘do you——?’
‘You must get him away in one of the carriages,’ she interrupted—‘some carriage which leaves here; for if he ventures to the station, he will certainly be arrested. You can, for the present, conceal him in your cottage, where, as I know, nobody lives but your mother and yourself. We leave all to you. He will come here to-morrow night. The rest is in your hands.—These are all I can give you now,’ she continued. ‘What ready money we can command, he will want; but in a short time you shall be properly rewarded.’ As she spoke, I saw her hands were busy under her cloak; and in the next instant she laid on the desk before me a handsome gold watch and chain.