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.

* * * * *

It was not till two years afterwards that I learnt that Uncle Silas was
found next morning dead of an overdose of laudanum, and that Dudley had
disappeared.

Milly married her good little clergyman. I am Lady Ilbury now, happy in
the affection of a beloved and noble-hearted husband. A tiny voice is
calling "Mamma;" the shy, useless girl you have known is now a mother,
thinking, and trembling whil