or a few seconds, he stumped stealthily along the gallery
which I had just traversed, and turned the corner in the direction of the
chamber where the crime had just been committed, and the discovery was
impending. I could see him against the broad window which in the daytime
lighted this long passage, and the moment he had passed the corner I
resumed my flight.

I descended a stair corresponding with that backstair, as I am told, up
which Madame had led me only the night before. I tried the outer door. To
my wild surprise it was open. In a moment I was upon the step, in the free
air, and as instantaneously was seized by the arm in the gripe of a man.

It was Tom Brice, who had already betrayed me, and who was now, in surtout
and hat, waiting to drive the carriage with the guilty father and son from
the scene of their abhorred outrage.

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 instantly we
were in motion--very cautiously while crossing the court, until he had got
the wheels upon the grass, and then at a rapid pace, improving his speed as
the distance increased. He drove along the side of the back-approach to the
house, keeping on the grass; so that our progress, though swaying like that
of a ship in a swell, was very nearly as noiseless.

The gate had been left unlocked--he swung it open, and remounted the box.
And we were now beyond the spell of Bartram-Haugh, thundering--Heaven be
praised!--along the Queen's highway, right in the route to Elverston. It
was literally a gallop. Through the chariot windows I saw Tom stand as he
drove, and every now and then throw an awful glance over his shoulder. Were
we pursued? Never was agony of prayer like mine, as