Of all the moments Mary had yet endured, this was undeniably the darkest. To hear one's death sentence pronounced is a trial few can face. To hear the words spoken by her own father, the man who had brought her into the world, who should have loved and cared for her above all others. . .was a horror so black it nearly clove her heart in two. She hunched together, pale and shivering with fright---unable to act, or even to think. And yet it was only in that, most desperate of corners, that the true strength of her spirit revealed itself. Her slow-awakened courage, pushed to its final need, became galvanized at the last, not a momentary surge, to be swept away as soon as anger left her, but a permanent foundation, underlying all. The will to live, and to resist the evil that would snuff out that life, rose so strong in her that it was all she could do not to cry out in rage. Clenching her jaws to keep the lower from trembling, she broke away from the helpless embrace and began to move across the floor on all fours, searching for the blade that she had earlier discarded. With this, Anne Scott too seemed to gather herself, and perceiving her niece's intention, began to search for the knife as well. All done in the poor and inconstant light from without, and with the urgency that only threat of death can bring. It was no easy task. For the uneven paving stones held many cracks, with scattered straw overlying all. But at last Mary's hand touched steel, and her fingers closed around it. A moment later two sounds were heard, one almost in answer to the other. First came Ballard's heavy tread upon the threshold of the landing. Then somewhere in the distance, a startled horse gave voice to its weary confusion. As if with one mind the women sought each other out. Then locking arms, they turned all senses outward, poised for instantaneous action. Together they heard the rough speech of the men outside the door, at the same time wondering with secret hope what rider had approached the outer walls, where none had come before. "Where have you been?" growled Purceville angrily. "What did you do with him?" "Mister Cummings met with an accident. He was in such haste to bring help to his dying master, that he missed his footing and fell headlong down the stairs. Broke his neck. An ugly accident, but natural enough." "Good," said Purceville more calmly. "Good work." But Ballard would have none of it. "So the death of these two we can explain," he said flatly. "But how are you going to explain throttling them bitches?"