“Sir,” said Dennis, in a trembling voice--“what do you mean?” “My God! don’t you know where she is?” “I haven’t seen her since she greeted me on my return. She gave me food and drink and went--to the house-top, I thought. You know her ways, sir.” “She is in Fern’s hands. They brought her to me in evidence.” A second pause as of death befell. The girl in his arms held her breath. “I must go back,” said Dennis, in a lost, low voice--“I must go back.” Tuke struggled to free himself. “Come!” he said--“we will go together.” Betty held him like a mad thing. “You shall not!” she cried. “Are you crazed? What could you do but weaken Mr. Whimple’s hands? And he would have two to his care instead of one. The girl is right and wily. She’ll have her plans, I warrant.” Still he struggled feebly in the encircling arms. “Run, Mr. Whimple!” she cried. “I will hold him that he cannot follow!” The echo of the man’s footsteps already came from a distance. “Betty!” panted her master reproachfully. “Oh! what do you make of me?” “One, I hope, that’ll hold himself sound for all our sakes. For shame! Have you not duties forward?” He must allow himself to succumb to this sweet sophist. They stumbled on together once more through the dank and inky blackness. Their unshod and frozen feet suffered cruelly on the rough floor, and many little exclamations of pain were forced from either. “Who was it that was hit by the villains, Betty?” “’Twas the lord creature.” “Good God! Then he and Miss Royston are there after all?” “Aye; they be.” “And is he killed?” “Not he; though were he, he couldn’t make more noise about it.” Tuke laughed feebly--a little bleat that was music to the other. “Have I said something foolish? But we read of chance folks whose death makes a noise, your honour.” “My honour again? But I’ll not gainsay you, darling. My honour and yours. Will you be my wife, Betty? And stay here and rest awhile, sweetheart, and we’ll choose the colour of the wedding-gown.” CHAPTER XLVIII. A white bed and sleep; food and drink in judicious allowance; salve for his hands and love for his heart; not least, the conviction that he might rest secure of the right conduct of his little garrison--and the returned sufferer, committing himself to the processes of a radiant constitution, found his trust justified in such a rapid convalescence as he had hardly ventured to expect. He slept off a dozen hours of the clock like one, and woke when it was nearing noon, already more than half restored to himself. At the first sound of his moving, Sir David came to his bedside, and looked down upon him with a comical air of chagrin. “Good and satisfactory,” said the baronet; “and now, sir, we need your counsels to rid some innocent people of a very blackguard incubus.” “Heaven bless them! But one word first--Darda?” “Trust the jade! She was brought in by her brother not ten minutes after you arrived.” “Thank God for that! How----?”