“At least, you can so far confide in me as to tell me your Christian name,” I said.
“Edna.”
“And you refuse your surname?”
“I do so under compulsion.”
The water had by this time risen rapidly. My legs had become benumbed, for it now reached nearly to my knees.
“Why do you longer hesitate?” she went on. “Give me your word that you will render the assistance I require, and we will at once escape. Let us lose no time. All this seems strange to you, I know; but some day, when you learn the real reason, you will thank me rather than think ill of my present actions.”
Her determination was, I saw plainly, the outcome of some terror which held her fettered, and I knew that, in order to save myself, I must give her the promise she had so persistently desired to extract from me.
Therefore, with sudden determination, prompted by the natural, instinct of self-preservation than by any desire to assist her, I gave her my bond of secrecy.
Again she sighed deeply, as though released of some oppressive weight by my words. Then our hands clasped in mutual trust, and without further word she led me to the opposite side of the noisome cellar into which my enemies had cast me.
“You shall never regret this decision,” she assured me in a strained voice, trembling with emotion—“never, never!”