"No," I answered, very bluntly; "I do not." "You are at least plain and outspoken," she responded. "But as our interests are mutual, I surely may presume to advise you to accept the conditions. Life is better than death, even though one may be blind." "And you hold back from me the chance to escape from this slow but inevitable fate unless I conform to your wishes?" "I do." "Such action as yours cannot inspire confidence." "I am impelled by circumstances beyond my own control," she answered, with a momentary touch of sadness. "If you knew the truth you certainly would not hesitate." "Will you not tell me your name?" "No. It is useless." "At least, you can so far confide in me as to tell me your Christian name," I said. "Edna." "And you refuse your surname?" "I do so under compulsion." The water had by this time risen rapidly. My legs had become benumbed, for it now reached nearly to my knees. "Why do you longer hesitate?" she went on. "Give me your word that you will render the assistance I require, and we will at once escape. Let us lose no time. All this seems strange to you, I know; but some day, when you learn the real reason, you will thank me rather than think ill of my present actions." Her determination was, I saw plainly, the outcome of some terror which held her fettered, and I knew that, in order to save myself, I must give her the promise she had so persistently desired to extract from me. Therefore, with sudden determination, prompted by the natural, instinct of self-preservation than by any desire to assist her, I gave her my bond of secrecy. Again she sighed deeply, as though released of some oppressive weight by my words. Then our hands clasped in mutual trust, and without further word she led me to the opposite side of the noisome cellar into which my enemies had cast me. "You shall never regret this decision," she assured me in a strained voice, trembling with emotion--"never, never!" And with a sudden movement she raised my hand and touched it lightly with her dry, fevered lips. CHAPTER SIX. HAND AND HEART. This impulsive action of hers was as though she were deeply indebted to me. I stood motionless in wonderment. But only for an instant. She left my side for a moment, and from the sound that escaped her lips appeared to be struggling to open some means of egress from the place. "Remain where you are," she said, "and I will return to you in a moment. The way out is rather difficult, and I shall be compelled to assist you." Her voice sounded above me, as though she had somehow climbed to the roof of the place. I heard the drawing of a bolt and the clang of iron; then she climbed down again to where I anxiously awaited her. The river flood had risen alarmingly, and was still entering rapidly.