Left alone in the dining-room, Foxwell first indulged in a momentary smile of satisfaction, as who should say, “For once has circumstance been kind to me;” and then, setting himself to the task yet remaining, he opened the library door, and called Everell.

The young man came without delay; looked swiftly around the room, and then at Foxwell with eyes that said, “She is not here!”

“She has gone to her room,” said Foxwell, very quietly. “I have granted her request: you are to go free.”

“Go free!”

“At her solicitation, and solely for her sake. For her sake, then, and for mine, too, if you consider not your own, I beg you will be secret in your departure—and above all, speedy. You must be especially on your guard against Jeremiah Filson, who still lodges at the public-house in the village yonder. Were I in your place, I wouldn’t pass through the village, I would go to Burndale and take conveyance there. But however you proceed, though I may seem inhospitable to urge it, you should set out immediately. You have money, I believe: if not, my purse—though I could wish it better lined—”

“Nay, a thousand thanks, but I have enough. As to this release, I know not what to say: I never would have asked it—”

“But you must accept it, for the sake of her who did ask it. I well know you would have stood to our compact. Stay not for protestations or thanks: the sooner you are gone, the better for us all.”

“But ’tis not yet ten o’clock.”

“Good heaven, sir, does it not follow that our agreement is annulled by your release if you accept it?—and your duty to her leaves you no choice but to accept. Will you stand upon an hour or two, when you’ve had near full benefit of the bargain for nothing, as it turns out?”

“You are right,” said Everell, with humility. “I will go as soon as I have said farewell to her.”

“But, my dear sir, that very ordeal is one you must spare her. Do you not see how the case stands? She was in great terror lest you should be given up: relieved upon that point, she asks no more. She is content with having gained your life: in that mood, she is willing to forego another meeting. It would only start her grief afresh: for that reason, I advised her to go to her room. As you value her peace, you must depart without seeing her.”

“Depart without seeing her!” Everell looked wistfully toward the hall, through which she must have passed to reach her apartments. He fetched a long and tremulous sigh; then bethought him of the miniature, and, taking it out, stood gazing on it with moist eyes. He gently kissed it, and replaced it in his pocket. “Well, sir, heaven knows I wouldn’t cause her fresh grief. But this I may ask—nay, must know:—when shall I be permitted to see her again?”

“’Tis not in my power to answer, your own future being unknown to me. Certainly you mustn’t see her during your present stay in England—which, if you are wise, you will devote entirely to getting out of England. As to the future more distant, all depends upon how matters shape themselves.”

“At least, then, I may hope! She will be true, I know. There will be an amnesty some day, and I may return to England without danger. In the meantime, you—and she—may be coming to France. I will write to her from there.”

“And not till you have arrived there, I trust. Until your safety is assured, any communication from you must give a new edge to her anxiety. But I demand no promises.” Foxwell intended to expedite the marriage: once his purposes were secured, Georgiana’s conduct would be Thornby’s affair. Now that her consent had been obtained, haste was possible. Meanwhile, he could intercept any letter that came by regular post. Therefore, ’twas better not to force Everell to secret means of correspondence.

“Then, sir,” said Everell, with a wan attempt at a smile, “as you demand no promises, I will make none. On the hope of meeting her again, in safer times, I shall live. In that hope, I must go. Tell her—” he paused a moment, but his thoughts were in a tumult—“Nay, words are too feeble! I thank her, not for my life, which is hers to use as she will; but for her love, which gives my life all its value. Adieu, sir!—no more!”

With that, he hastened abruptly, half-blindly, to the hall; and thence to his chamber, where he donned his sword, hat, cloak, and riding-boots. He threw his few other belongings into the bag, made sure his money was safe in pocket, and returned to the hall, thinking to leave by way of the courtyard and thus soonest gain the road. There was the darkness for his safety, and the whirl of his thoughts to speed him on to Burndale, where he could knock up some innkeeper, and take horse for the South at dawn.

Caleb and another servant, charged by Foxwell to attend the departing guest to the gate, were at the door. Everell handed each a coin, and the second man ran ahead to open the gate. Everell was following across the dark courtyard, when he bethought him of the services of Prudence. He turned back to the light of the open doorway, selected a gold piece, and asked Caleb to convey it to the maid.

“If it please your Honour, sir, asking your pardon, may I call Miss Prudence to receive it herself?” said Caleb; “’twill take but a minute.”

Perceiving that the valet was averse to the trust, Everell acquiesced. The idea then came to him that he might utilize the brief delay by writing a message of farewell to Georgiana: there could be no objection to a few written words of love and faith, which Prudence might deliver at a suitable time. Everell strode into the dining-room.

Nobody else was there, for Foxwell had returned to the drawing-room to pen a letter which should accompany Georgiana’s to Thornby. He had begun to apologize to Rashleigh and Mrs. Winter for the long trial he had put upon their patience.

“You might at least have left the door ajar, that we could have heard your fine scenes yonder,” said Mrs. Winter.

“So I might have done, I own,” replied Foxwell.

“Yes; as you didn’t, we thought ourselves justified in listening at the keyhole.”

“We?” exclaimed Rashleigh, in protest.

“Well, if you didn’t listen, Rashleigh, you certainly didn’t stop my telling you what I heard.”

“Then you know what has happened?” queried Foxwell.

“I could make a good guess at the general event,” answered the lady. “The rebel goes free, and pretty Georgiana marries for love.”

“For love!” said Foxwell. “Hardly so, I fear.”

“Certainly. For love of one man, she marries another. ’Tis often done—especially in France. ’Tis a plan that has its beauties.”

“I’m afraid Georgiana is too English to see its beauties,” said Rashleigh, as Foxwell sat down to write his letter.

Return we to another writer, in the adjoining room. Everell had found the book from which Georgiana had been reading to him, which he had dropped in going to support her when she seemed about to faint. He had scarce begun to pencil his message on a blank leaf, when Prudence looked in at the door.

“Oh, ’tis here your honour is, sir; and sure I’m sorry you’re going away so suddent,” she said, advancing. “When Caleb told me just now, I couldn’t believe my ears, and I wouldn’t yet, neither, if I didn’t see your cloak and bag, more’s the pity.”

“Yes, I am going,” said Everell, handing her the reward of merit.

“Oh lor, sir, what princely generosity! I’m sure I aren’t no ways deserving of such! It reely breaks my heart, begging your Honour’s pardon, to see how things have come about. After all that’s took place this past week, to hear of this marriage—’tis enough to make one think of witchcraft—”

“This marriage? What marriage?—whose?”

“Why, this here marriage, in course. Bean’t that what sends your Honour away all of a suddent at such a time o’ night?”

“Whose marriage? Speak, Prudence!—in a word, whose?”

“Why, mistress’s marriage, to be sure. Whose else in the world—”

“Mistress’s mar—! What mistress?”

“Mistress Georgiana Foxwell, in course: I don’t own to no other mistress, I’m sure.” The maid drew back from Everell, wondering if the loss of his sweetheart had affected his wits.

“Mistress Georgiana! Are you mad, Prudence? What do you mean?”

“Mad, sir? Not me! I scorn the word. ’Tis my betters I takes to be mad, to go and make a match of it with a gentleman she’s scarce set eyes on, be he ever so rich.”

“What gentleman do you speak of? Truly I think you are mad.”

“I’m a-speaking of Squire Thornby, sir, who but he? Sure then, haven’t they told your Honour?”

“Squire Thornby?” repeated Everell, with but vague recollection of the little he had heard of that person. “A neighbour of Mr. Foxwell’s, isn’t he?”

“Yes, with a large estate, I’ve heard say. ’Tis all I know of him, barring they’............