At ten o'clock she started from her hiding-place, and at eleven reached the village. The house was surrounded by a wall, but, as she hoped, the gate was unbarred. It opened quietly, and, going round to the back, she took post as far away from the house as she could, and shot the arrow, on which she had fastened her little note, at the window-opening. At the third essay she was successful, and the arrow went right into the room; then she quietly withdrew. He was, she thought, certain to see it when he awoke, as the rooms were generally very small, and he would, she hoped, be certain to wake before any of the people of the village entered his room. Carefully closing the gate again behind her, she made her way back to the wood, and lay down and slept till morning. She passed the day in a state of feverish anxiety. Now that success seemed almost certain she was far more apprehensive of being discovered than she had been before, and she spent the day at the edge of the wood on the look-out for any approaching figure. But the day passed as quietly as the others had done, and as soon as it was dark she strolled down to her look-out near the village, carrying with her her bow and arrows, and the rope. It seemed to her that the village would never go to sleep that evening, but finally all became quiet and the last light was extinguished. She waited half an hour to allow the occupants of the village to settle down. Then she ventured to move, and in five minutes stood opposite to Carter's window. It was, of course, without glass, being closed only in cold weather by a blanket hanging before it. The moonlight permitted her to see a figure standing there. Four times she missed before she succeeded in shooting an arrow into the room. In a minute the string attached to it was pulled. She then fastened the end of the rope to it. This was drawn up by Carter, and a minute later he slid down. As he came up to her she whispered "Hush!", led the way out through the gate, and ascended the ravine. Not until she was two or three hundred yards away from the tower did she stop. "My dear Miss Nita," he said, "by what miracle have you managed this?" "There is no miracle in it," she answered; "I got away, and naturally I was not going to leave without you. I hope that you have quite recovered from your wounds." "Quite," he said, "though just at present I seem hardly able to use my legs, for I have had no exercise except what I could get in a room eight feet square. However, I dare say that I shall recover their use again before long. Where are you taking me?"