It was this thought that had momentarily deprived Marion Wade of her senses.

She had recovered them; but not along with them her tranquillity of spirit. To her that day had been one of fearful reflections. Every hour had its chapter of stinging thoughts--every minute its miserable emotion. Love and jealousy--sympathy and spite--had alternated all day long; each in turn holding possession of her tortured soul.

It was now the hour of midnight, and the wicked pa.s.sions had succ.u.mbed; the virtuous emotions had triumphed. Love and sympathy were in the ascendant! Marion Wade was upon the eve of attempting the accomplishment of a purpose that would prove, not only the depth of her love, but its n.o.ble unselfishness.

Could Holtspur have beheld her at this moment--could he have guessed her design--he would have withheld that recrimination, which in the bitterness of spirit he had permitted to pa.s.s from his lips.

END OF VOLUME TWO.

Volume Three, Chapter I.

It has been deemed strange that two individuals should conceive the same thought, at the same instant of time. Those who are skilled in psychology, will not be surprised by such coincidence. Like circ.u.mstances produce like results, in the world of mind, as in that of matter; and an instance may be found in the similar idea conceived at the same time by Marion Wade and Elizabeth Dancey--a lady of high rank, and a la.s.s of low degree.

Both were in love with the same man--Henry Holtspur, the prisoner. Both had bethought them of a plan for delivering him from his prison; and if there was anything singular, it was, that their schemes were in almost exact correspondence.

The velvet-hooded cloak under which was concealed the face and form of Marion Wade, had been put on with the same design, as that garment, of somewhat similar make, but coa.r.s.er material, that shrouded the shapes of d.i.c.k Dancey's daughter.

Both were bent upon one and the same errand.

There may have been some difference as to the means and hopes directed towards its accomplishment; but none as to the motive--none as to the time intended for its trial. Both had chosen the hour of midnight.

Neither was this an accidental coincidence. No more than Bet Dancey, had Marion Wade trusted to chance as to the hour for making the attempt.

During the day she had made her inquiries, and resolved upon her measures. Through the medium of a confidential maid--also an old acquaintance of the soldier Withers--she had ascertained that the latter would be on post over the prisoner from twelve till two at night. She had learnt, moreover, some things about the character and disposition of this trustworthy sentinel--leading her to believe that he would not prove an exception to the general rule of mankind; and that gold would overcome his scruples--if administered in sufficient quant.i.ty. For this sufficiency had she provided.

Even without regard to these considerations, the hour of midnight was one that might have been chosen on its own account. All the dwellers within the mansion--as well as its stranger guests--would be then a-bed; and there would be less chance of her design being frustrated by discovery.

It was a mere accident that caused a difference of some ten minutes of time, between the arrival of his two deliverers at the door of Holtspur's prison; and in this the la.s.s had gained the advantage over the lady.

At the moment when Bet Dancey was standing before the wicket, Marion Wade was stealing softly from her chamber to make her way through darkness down the great staircase, and along the silent halls and corridors of the paternal mansion.

Inside his silent cell, Holtspur had heard the clock striking the hour of twelve, in solemn lugubrious tones--too consonant with his thoughts.

It was the twelve of midnight.

"I wish it were twelve of to-morrow's noon," soliloquised he, when the tolling had ceased. "If I have correctly interpreted the conversation I overheard this morning, ere that hour I shall be far from this place.

So--the Tower is my destination. After that--ay, what after that?

Perhaps--the block? Why fear I to p.r.o.nounce the word? I may as well look it boldly in the face: for I know that the vengeance of that vile woman--that has pursued me all through life, since she could not have my heart, will be satisfied with nothing less than my head. It is _her_ hand I recognise in this--her hand that penned the postscript to that despatch; or, at all events, was it she who dictated it.

"I wish it were the hour to depart hence. There can be no dungeon in the Tower so terrible as this--on one side of the wall h.e.l.l, on the other Paradise. I can think only of Paradise, where Marion is present.

She so dear to me--so near to me--almost breathing the same atmosphere; and yet oblivious of my existence! Perhaps--

"Ha! footsteps stirring outside? The sentry talking to some one! 'Tis the voice of a woman!

"One of the domestics of the mansion, I suppose, who has stolen forth to exchange the day's gossip with the guard? 'Tis a late hour for the girl to be gadding; but perhaps 'tis the hour of her choice? I can envy this wench and her soldier sweetheart their easy opportunities. Perhaps equally to be envied is the free and easy fashion, with which they enter upon a love affair, and escape out of it? With them there is no such terrible contingency as a broken heart. To-morrow he may be gone; and the day after she will be as gay as ever!

"How different with a pa.s.sion like mine! Absence can have no effect upon it. Not even the terrors of the Tower can bring it to a termination. It will end only under the axe of the executioner--if that is to be my fate.

"These gossips are getting nearer the door. Though they are talking in a low tone, I might hear what they say, by placing my ear to the keyhole. I have no inclination to make myself the depository of their coa.r.s.e love secrets; but perhaps I may hear something of myself, or of _her_! That may make it worth my while to play eavesdropper."

The prisoner rose from his seat; and succeeded in getting himself into an erect att.i.tude. But all at once he sank back upon the bench; and only by adroitly balancing his body did he save himself from falling upon the floor.

"By the good Saint Vitus!" he exclaimed, rather amused at his misadventure, "I had forgotten that my feet were not free. After all, what I should hear might not be worth the effort. I'll leave them to keep their secrets--whatever they be--to themselves."

So resolving, he resumed his sedentary att.i.tude upon the bench, and remained silent, but as before, listening.

By this, the speakers had approached nearer to the door; and their words could now be distinctly heard inside the store-room.

"So!" resumed Holtspur, after listening for a short while; "lovers, as I suspected. He talks of kissing her! I can hear that word above all the others. Ho! they are pressing against the door! What! Surely the key turns in the lock? Can they be coming in?"

The question was answered by the unlocking of the door; which upon the next instant swung silently upon its hinges, until it stood half open.

Against the glimmer of the lamp outside, Holtspur could dimly distinguish two forms--one of them a woman.

The male figure was the nearer one; though the woman was close behind.

On opening the door, the sentry had thrust his head inside the room--but evidently without any design of introducing his body.

"Are you sleepin', Master?" interrogated he, speaking in a tone that did not seem unkindly, and only a little louder than a whisper.

"No," replied the prisoner, answering the man frankly, while imitating his cautious tone.

"All right, then!" said the sentry: "for there be a lady here as wants to have a word with ye; and as I suppose ye don't care to do your talkin' i' the dark, I'll lend you my lamp for a bit. But don't make your dialogue a long 'un: there be danger in what I'm doin'."

So saying, the trooper walked back into the archway, for the purpose of fetching his lamp; while the woman, pushing past him, stepped inside the room.

As the phrase, "there be a lady," fell from the lips of the sentinel, the heart of Henry Holtspur, throbbed quick within his bosom. Sweet thoughts welled up at the words.

Could he have been mistaken in believing his midnight visitor a domestic of the mansion? _Might it not be its mistress_?

In the dim light he saw a female form closely wrapped in hood and cloak.

In that guise, she might be either a peasant or a princess. The figure was tall, upright, commanding. Such was that of Marion Wade!

Holtspur's fond fancy was destined to a short indulgence. The lamp was pa.s.sed through the half-opened door; and placed upon a stool that stood near. Its glare fell upon the form of his visitor--lighting up a crimson cloak--lighting up features of a gipsy type, with dark, flashing eyes--beautiful features, it is true, but altogether unlike the angelic countenance he had been conjuring up--the countenance of Marion Wade.

"It is not she--only Maid Marian!"

Holtspur's hopeful glance suddenly changed to one of disappointment, as he identified the daughter of the deer-stealer. Perhaps it was well for him--for both--that Betsey did not observe the transformation. The obscure light of the lamp hindered the girl from having a chagrin, equal, if not greater, than his.

"Mistress Betsey!" he exclaimed, on recovering from the first flutter of his surprise. "You here! What has brought you to my prison?"

"Hush!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the girl, moving rapidly forward from the door--which the sentry had taken the precaution to shut behind him--"Speak only in whispers! I've come to save you--to get you out of this ugly place."

"But how? 'Tis not possible, I fear? The door is guarded--the sentry is outside? I could not go forth without being seen?"

"You _will_ be seen--that's true. But it won't matter a bit. If you'll follow my directions, you'll get out without being hindered. That's sufficient. Father and Master Garth planned it all, before we left home. They are waiting for you on the edge of the wood--up the hill, just behind the house."

"Ah! a plan for me to escape? What is it, my brave Betsey?"