Their hands touched and thrilled in the darkness of the night. Then John Gore drew the sheet rope out, trying the knots to see that they were firm.
“What have you bound them with? Why, child, you have cut your hair!”
“Only two small pieces.”
“Then the rope is blessed, dear. Good-night.”
“Good-night.”
“Trust to me, dear; I shall have you away from here before long. Trust me in your heart.”
Barbara stood close to the wall, the anguish of the past, with all its memories, flooding back on her, now that he was going. She thought of that secret that seemed to flow between them like a river of doom. Her heart grew chilled and afraid with dread of the truth.
“John!”
He hung there, waiting.
“You must not come again, John. Promise me; it is risking your life, and I—”