“I will answer no further questions,” replied Nightgall, doggedly. “One word before I depart. I am not your only enemy. You have others more powerful, and equally implacable. You have incurred the displeasure of the Privy Council, and I have a warrant, under the hands of its chief members, for your execution. I am now about to summon the headsman for the task.”
“Then your offer to liberate me was mere mockery,” observed the esquire.
“Not so,” replied the other; “and I again repeat it. Swear to abandon Cicely, and to maintain profound silence as to what you have just seen, and I will convey you by a secret passage underneath the Tower moat to a place of security, where you will be beyond the reach of your enemies, and will take the risk of your escape upon myself. Do you agree to this?”
“No,” replied Cholmondeley, firmly. “I distrust your statement, and defy your malice.”
“Obstinate fool!” growled the jailer. “Prepare to meet your fate in an hour.”
“Whenever it comes it will find me prepared,” rejoined the esquire.
Nightgall glared at him fiercely for a moment from beneath his shaggy brows. He then strode sullenly away. But his departure was prevented by Cicely, who suddenly appeared at the mouth of the dungeon.
“You here!” he exclaimed recoiling, and trembling as if an apparition had crossed his path. “How have you obtained admittance?”,
“It matters not,” she answered. “I am come to purchase your prisoner’s freedom.”
“You know the terms?” rejoined the jailer, eagerly.