The morning after I was informed madame was to take me to join Milly in France.  As Uncle Silas had directed, I wrote to Cousin Monica from London.  I know madame asked me what I would do for her if she took me to Lady Knollys.  I was inwardly startled, but refused, seeing before me only a tempter and betrayer; and together we ended our journey, driving from the station through the dark and starless night to find ourselves at last in Mr. Charke’s room at Bartram-Haugh.

There were bailiffs in the house, I was told.  I was locked in.  I entreated madame wildly, piteously, to save me; but she mocked me in my agony.  I escaped for a brief moment, and sought my uncle.  I can never forget the look he fixed on me.

“What is the meaning of this?  Why is she here?” he asked, in a stern, icy tone.  “You were always odd, niece.  I begin to believe you are insane.  There’s no evil intended you, by—­, there is none!  Go to your room, and don’t vex me, there’s a good girl!”

I went upstairs with madame, like a somnambulist.  She was to leave me to sleep alone that night.  I had lost the talismanic pin I always stuck in the bolster of my bed.  Uncle Silas sent up spiced claret in a little silver flagon.  Madame abstractedly drank it off, and threw herself on my bed.  I believed she was feigning sleep only, and really watching me; but now I think the claret was drugged.

About an hour afterwards I heard them digging in the courtyard.  Like a thunder-bolt it smote my brain.  “They are making my grave!”

After the first dreadful stun, I grew wild, running up and down wringing my hands, and gasping prayers to heaven.  Then a dreadful calm stole over me.

IV.—­The Open Door

It was a very still night.  A peculiar sound startled me and I saw a man descend by a rope, and take his stand on the windowsill.  In a moment more, window, bars and all, swung noiselessly open, and Dudley Ruthyn stepped into the room.

He stole, in a groping way, to the bed, and stooped over it.  Nearly at the same moment there came a scrunching blow; an unnatural shriek, accompanied by a convulsive sound, as of the motion of running, and the arms drumming on the bed, and then another blow—­and silence.  The diabolical surgery was over.  There came a little tapping at the door.

“Who’s that?” whispered Dudley hoarsely.

“A friend,” answered a sweet voice, and Uncle Silas entered.

Coolness was given me in that dreadful moment.  I knew that all depended on my being prompt and resolute.  With a mental prayer for help, I glided from the room and descended the stairs.  I tried the outer door.  To my wild surprise it was open.  In a moment I was in the free air—­and as instantaneously was seized by Tom Brice, Meg’s sweetheart, who was waiting to drive the guilty father and son away.

“They shan’t hurt ye, miss.  Get ye in; I don’t care a d——!” he said in a wild, fierce whisper.  To me it was the voice of an angel.  He drove over the grass so that our passage was noiseless; then, on reaching the highway, at a gallop.  At length we entered Elverston.  I think I was half wild.  I could not speak, but ran, with a loud, long scream, into Cousin Monica’s arms.  I forget a great deal after that.