I stood all this while clutching at my blanket to cover my filth and rags, and she, young and tender, now all tears, now flashing a smile in between, like the pretty lightning of this storm of gentle pity. “And what fetched you here to this awful place?” I said. “God knows how welcome you are, but--” “Oh,” she cried, “when Arthur went, I said I would wait, but I could not. My aunt was in a rage, but I would go with the dear sister; and then I found Sir William, and Mr. Montresor was there; and you will be helped, and an end put to this wickedness. But the parole Arthur will ask for--that is better.” “Darthea,” I said hoarsely, my voice breaking, “I have been here since early in October. I have been starved, frozen, maltreated a hundred ways, but I can never take a parole. My friend Delaney and I are agreed on this. As to exchanges, I have no rank, and I may be a year inactive. I will take my chance here.” I think death had been preferable to a parole obtained for me by Arthur Wynne. No; I was not made of my father-rock to do this and then to want to kill the man. I could not do that. I put it on the parole. Delaney and I had agreed, and on this I stood firm. She implored me to change my mind. “How obstinate you are!” she cried. “Do you never change? Oh, you are dreadfully changed! Do not die; you must not.” She was strange in her excitement. Then I thought to ask to have Delaney in, and to bid him tell that vile and wicked story; but it seemed no place nor time to hurt her who had so helped me, daring to do what few young women had ever dared even to think of. As I hesitated, I was struck with a thought which was like a physical pain. It put myself and the other wretched business quite out of my head. “O Darthea!” I cried, “you should never have come here. Go at once. Do not stay a minute. This is a house poisoned. Seven died of fever in this room. Write me what else is to say, but go; and let me have some plain clothes from home, and linen and a razor and scissors and, above all,” and I smiled, “soap. But go! go! Why were you let to come?” “I will go when I have done. Why did I come? Because I am your friend, and this is the way I read friendship. Oh, I shall hear of it too. But let him take care; I would do it again. And as to this parole, he shall get it for you to-morrow, if you like it or not. I will write to you, and the rest you shall have; and now good-by. I am to be at home for Mr. Montresor in a half-hour. This is but a bit of payment for the ugly little girl, who is very honest, sir, I do assure you.” “Do go,” I cried. “And, oh, Darthea, if this is your friendship, what would be your love!” “Fie! fie! Hush!” she said, and was gone.