CHAPTER LXV
IN THE OAK PARLOUR
So it was vain: I was trapped, and all was over.
I stood before him on the step, the white moon shining on my face. I was trembling so that I wonder I could stand, my helpless hands raised towards him, and I looked up in his face. A long shuddering moan—’Oh—oh—oh!’ was all I uttered.
The man, still holding my arm, looked, I thought frightened, into my white dumb face.
Suddenly he said, in a wild, fierce whisper—
‘Never say another word’ (I had not uttered one). ‘They shan’t hurt ye, Miss; git ye in; I don’t care a damn!’
It was an uncouth speech. To me it was the voice of an angel. With a burst of gratitude that sounded in my own ears like a laugh, I thanked God for those blessed words.
In a moment more he had placed me in the carriage, and almost ins
