e darkness to find him, but
the chain checked it. He heard the rattle of it, and understood.

"Chained too, my dove!" he said, but in Gaelic.

His weakness was over. He thanked God, and took courage. New life
rushed through every vein. He rose to his feet in conscious strength.

"Can you strike a light, and let me see you, Donal?" said Arctura.

Then first she called him by his Christian name: it had been so often
in her heart if not on her lips that night!

The dim light wasted the darkness of the long buried place, and for a
moment they looked at each other. She was not so changed as Donal had
feared to find her--hardly so change to him as he was to her. Terrible
as had been her trial, it had not lasted long, and had been succeeded
by a heavenly joy. She was paler than usual, yet there was a rosy flush
over her beautiful face. Her hand was stretched towards him, its wrist
clasped by the rusty ring, and tightening the chain that held it to the
post.

"How pale and tired you look!" she said.

"I am a little tired," he answered. "I came almost without stopping. My
mother sent me. She said I must come, but she did not tell me why."

"It was God sent you," said Arctura.

Then she briefly told him what she knew of her own story.

"How did he get the ring on to your wrist?" said Donal.

He looked closer and saw that her hand was swollen, and the skin
abraded.

"He forced it on!" he said. "How it must hurt you!"

"It does hurt now you speak of it," she replied. "I did not notice it
before.--Do you suppose he left me here to die?"

"Who can tell!" returned Donal. "I suspect he is more of a madman than
we knew. I wonder if a soul can be mad.--Yes; the devil must be mad
with self-worship! Hell is the great madhouse of creation!"

"Take me away," she said.

"I must first get you free," answered Donal.

She heard him rise.

"You are not going to leave me?" she said.

"Only to get a tool or two."

"And after that?" she said.

"Not until you wish me," he answered. "I am your servant now--his no
more."

CHAPTER LXXVII.

THE ANGEL OF THE DEVIL.

There came a great burst of thunder. It was the last of the storm. It
bellowed and shuddered, went, and came rolling up again. It died away
at last in the great distance, with a low continuous rumbling as if it
would never cease. The silence that followed was like the Egyptian
darkness; it might be felt.

Out of the tense heart of the silence came a faint