“But I have learned and I have suffered, and, John, in the long, silent nights I have prayed to God that He would be merciful to me—that I in turn might be more merciful.”
He kissed her hands again.
“God is with us, child, here and now.”
“How good you are, John! If I could only tell him—and my mother.”
“Dear heart, let that rest awhile. It is you I pray for—you that I remember.”
He was silent awhile, like a man waking to life from some strange dream. Then he pressed her hands in his, and spoke very dearly through the bars to her.
“Barbe, I must get you away from here. I would do it without violence for your sake—for the sake of every one. It would be easy for me to kill that man, but I would not have blood with the memory of this.”
She looked up at him and sighed.
“Listen: you can trust me. I have a rope here round my body; take it, when I am gone, and hide it in your bed. I will come again to-morrow and file these bars through. Do you know how the door is fastened?”
“With lock and bar.”