"Oh, Brooke!" she groaned. "Can nothing move you? What is life worth to me at such a cost? Oh, Brooke, fly! Leave me. Fight your way out. I will follow you." "You cannot. If you tried, you would be sure to be captured. I might escape as you say, but you could not." "Oh, Brooke, try--fly! Oh, I could kill myself rather than endure this any longer." "Talbot!" said Brooke, suddenly shaking her off. "What, Brooke?" "You're a fool!" "Yes, Brooke." "You're a fool!" he repeated, in a voice that sounded like a gasp. "Why will you persist in talking in this way, and blight and shatter all my strength of soul? It's too late, I tell you. I will not. I will not do anything that can expose you to fresh danger; your peril is great enough now, but there is a bare chance for you if nothing happens. When they have got one life they may feel inclined to spare the other." "Never!" said Talbot. "They shall not. I will not have it." "You must!" said Brooke, fiercely. "I tell you I will not!" cried Talbot, in a passionate voice. "D--n you!" roared Brooke. "I tell you you must, and you shall!" At this there was a noise below. Some of the guard had awakened. Brooke drew a long breath, and retreated from the window into the darkness. Talbot went after him. "Talbot," said Brooke, in a voice that was strangely sweet yet unutterably sad--"Talbot, do you want to break my heart?" "Brooke," said Talbot, in a low, thrilling tone. "Is it your heart only, do you think, that is now almost breaking?" After this there was a deep silence, broken only by their own quick breathing. Brooke felt a hand in his. He caught it in a convulsive grasp; and the two hands clung to each other, and throbbed with the vehement pulsations of two hearts that now beat with intensest feeling. "Let me go," wailed Brooke, at last, snatching his hand away. He gasped for breath. He retreated farther into the darkness. Talbot stood motionless and trembling. There was silence again for a long time. It was at last broken by Brooke. "Come, Talbot," he said, with feverish rapidity and a wretched assumption of carelessness. "Let's engage in conversation. What shall we talk about? The weather? Or the crops? Or shall we talk politics? By-the-bye, can't you sing something? I tell you what--it isn't fair. You make me do all the singing. But I don't mind. You're a good listener, at any rate. If you like I'll sing a hymn." And he began, singing through his nose: "Oh, a maiden she lived in the south countrie, And a werry fine maid, my boy, was she, For her hair was as red as red can be; So off we go to Marymashee. And a jolly young cove fell in love with she, Says he, 'My lass, will you marry me?' One foot up and t'other foot down, And away we travel to London town." Again there was a sound below. Brooke's song had roused the guard. Talbot gave a wild start. "They're coming!" she gasped, in a tone of horror. "They're coming--at last. They won't wait!"