All of a sudden his hands were free. He would have endeavoured to rise, but with a quick gesture she kept him down. She came to the front, and swiftly with her strong young arms pulled the boots from his numbed feet. “Now!” she signified. He was up in a moment. Broken as he was, the stimulus given his spirit by the devotion of this true soul was divine. Supporting him with all her love, she helped him step by step across the floor. Then for the first time he noticed that the girl was in her stockinged feet, and that the casement stood wide to the freezing night. Come to the opening, he stooped his face to hers with a very pathetic look. “Not now,” she whispered. “Not an instant for delay or explanation”--but seeing what he would be at, she put an arm to his neck, and drew his lips hard against hers. The sill was but a step to an active wench. Betty was outside, scarcely having released his hands; and then she turned and beckoned. At her nod, another appeared at the opening--Dennis, by all the alphabet of wonder! She bade him to keep perfect silence by a word. The good fellow was white as ashes, and as he came up he was fumbling a long blade into his pocket. The moonlight revealed a wide horrified look in his eyes. He was like a saint whom love has defrauded of heaven. He took his master under the arms, and with a convulsive effort haled him out into the snow. Inevitably a little noise resulted. Betty gave an indrawn gasp; but by all good luck a burst of laughter from within covered the accident. Tuke stood like a drunken man, swaying and staring vacantly about him. Against the porch he was aware of a misshapen bundle. “God forgive me, sir,” said Dennis. “’Twas for you I did it.” The woman was the Roman. “He died at his post,” she whispered; “and I would have done it blithely myself for this. And Mr. Whimple, he has stood guard at the door and left me only the sweets of service.” Then she said, “Are you strong now to come?” and, seeing her poor gentleman all weak and bewildered, she held him again pitifully and bade Dennis to his other side; and so they led him, with what swiftness they could compass and creeping like frantic things, out through the lodge-gate and a little way up the foundered road, until they came to that very snowy gap in the brushwood through which the party of wanderers had forced their way three days before. And presently--for the moon made all distinct--they broke and stumbled into the clearing and stood before the ice-house. “Betty,” then murmured her master--“I must not question; but why not push up the drive, now the coast is clear?--And here we shall only die.” “Oh! you are wise,” she cried, with a little triumphant laugh--a pretty confection of love and relief and tears. “You are wise and bold, but not a little stupid perhaps. Who shall say that another sentry is not posted between the lodge and the house? And now you are to see.”