“As bound in honour. Peter”—the grey-headed black who answered the summons to the door—“will be glad enough to see us; for the old fellow is not accustomed to let his young rogue of a master in at midnight, with a charming young woman under his arm.” Anna Updyke was right. Mary Monson was in a deep sleep on the sofa. So profound was her rest, there was a hesitation about disturbing her; though twelve, the hour set for the return of the carriage to Biberry, was near. For a few minutes Dunscomb conversed with his agreeable companion in his own library. “If Jack knew of your being in the house, he would never forgive my not having him called.” “I shall have plenty of occasions for seeing Jack,” returned the young lady, colouring. “You know how assiduous he is in this cause, and how devoted he is to the prisoner.” “Do not run away with any such notion, child; Jack is yours, heart and soul.” “Hist—there is the carriage; Mary must be called.” Away went Anna, laughing, blushing, but with tears in her eyes. In a minute Mary Monson made her appearance, somewhat refreshed and calmed by her short nap. “Make no excuse for waking me, Anna,” said this unaccountable woman. “We can both sleep on the road. The carriage is as easy as a cradle; and, luckily, the roads are quite good.” “Still they lead to a prison, Mrs. Monson!” The prisoner smiled, and seemed to be lost in thought. It was the first time any of her new acquaintances had ever addressed her as a married woman; though Marie Moulin, with the exception of her first exclamation at their recent meeting, had invariably used the appellation of Madame. All this, however, was soon forgotten in the leave-taking. Dunscomb thought he had seldom seen a female of higher tone of manners, or greater personal charms, than this singular and mysterious young woman appeared to be, as she curtsied her adieu. CHAPTER XVII. “What then avail impeachments, or the law’s Severest condemnation while the queen May snatch him from the uplifted hand of justice?” _Earl of Essex._