“Good Heavens! Isabel!—I'll fly for assistance.”
“No; not for worlds! I could not wait for it. Cut the cords and break open the chest this moment, or I shall die.”
With the aid of a pocket-knife and the poker, George soon emancipated Isabel from her place of confinement. Pale and sobbing, she sank into his arms, and vowed eternal gratitude to her kind deliverer, whom, she said, notwithstanding appearances, she loved better than any other being in existence.
“If so,” said George, very naturally, “why do I find you in Godfrey's chest?”
“Don't I confess that appearances are against me?” exclaimed Isabel, pettishly; “what more would you have?”
“I am not unreasonable, Isabel: but I shall certainly talk to Mr. Fairfax, on this subject, before he leaves the house;—on that, I am resolved.”
“No doubt you are; or to do anything else that you think will vex me.”
“Nay, Isabel, you are too severe.”
“Indeed,” said Isabel, “I am quite the contrary: it is nothing but the excess of my foolish good-nature that has led me into this disagreeable situation. My frolic has cost me dear enough. That horrid Godfrey!”
“His conduct is atrocious; and I shall immediately mention it to the Doctor.”