“Could not? Did she not go out at one of them? Besides, I do not doubt
that such a room as that had private communication with the open air as
well. I should much like to examine the place.”
“But how could she have gone through the bolted door then?”
“That door may have been set in another, larger by half the frame or so,
and opening with a spring and concealed hinges. There is no difficulty
about that. There are such places to be found now and then in old houses.
But, indeed, if you will excuse me, I do not consider your testimony, on
every minute particular, quite satisfactory.”
“Why?” asked Hugh, rather offended.
“First, because of the state of excitement you must have been in; and
next, because I doubt the wine that was left in your room. The count no
doubt knew enough of drugs to put a few ghostly horrors into the decanter.
But poor Miss Cameron! The horrors he has put into her mind and life! It
is a sad fate—all but a sentence of insanity.”
Hugh sprang to his feet.
“By heaven!” he cried, “I will strangle the knave.”
“Stop, stop!” said Falconer. “No revenge! Leave him to the sleeping
divinity within him, which will awake one day, and complete the hell that
he is now building for himself—for the very fire of hell is the
divine in it. Your work is to set Euphra free. If you did strangle him,
how do you know if that would free her from him?”
“Horrible!—Have you no news of him?”
“None whatever.”
“What, then, can I do for her?”
“You must teach her to foil him.”
“How am I to do that? Even if I knew how, I cannot see her, I cannot speak
to her.”
“I have a great faith in opportunity.”
“But how should she foil him?”
“She must pray to God to redeem her fettered will—to strengthen her
will to redeem herself. She must resist the count, should he again claim
her submission (as, for her sake, I hope he will), as she would the devil
himself. She must overcome. Then she will be free—not before. This
will be very hard to do. His power has been excessive and peculiar, and
her submission long and complete. Even if he left her alone, she would not
therefore be free. She must defy him; break his bonds; oppose his will;
assert her freedom; and defeat him utterly.”
“Oh! who will help her? I have no power. Even if I were with her, I could
not help her in such a struggle. I wish David were not dead. He was the
man.—You could now, Mr. Falconer.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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