“I have been thinking of my sweet Elizabeth in Merry England,” quoth his lordship. “Ay,” assented Abigail, listening intensely for any sound of the student; “ah, Master Ronald hath catched the knaves. I can hear their voices and the trampling of horses’ feet.” “’Tis well,” rejoined his lordship. “Little maid, I have been thinking of the words of my very learned contemporary, Sir Thomas Browne.” “And what might they be?” asked Abigail, giving him but half an ear. “Great experience hath he had of death and hath seen many die,” replied his lordship, solemnly, “for he too is a physician. Thus was he led to say that when he reflected upon the many doors which led to death, he thanked his God that he could die but once!” Chapter XVIII The Coming of Thomas Softly the daylight faded in Deliverance’s prison-cell. But the purple twilight which brought repose after the day’s work, and long hours of sweet sleep to the tired world, came sorrowfully to her anxious heart. Slowly, as the golden light which had filtered through the leaves of the apple tree was withdrawn, so moment by moment, hope vanished, and despair, like a pall of darkness, settled upon her. The long day of patient waiting was past. No longer might her straining ears listen for Abigail’s voice, for the tramp of horses’ feet coming to her rescue from Boston Town, or, joy of joys, Ronald, Ronald, to clasp her in his arms and defy any to touch her harmfully. All that day, at every step in the corridor, she had started and quivered, waiting with nerves strung to the highest tension. Now she knew the sun had set upon Abigail’s failure. The little maid had departed the morning of the previous day, and had she met with success, would have reached Boston Town in the evening, and have returned the next day to Salem. Perhaps she had not been able to find the Cavalier, or had not found him soon enough and would arrive too late, or—and at this last thought, she shuddered—who could tell but that Abigail had mistaken her way and fallen a victim to the Indians or wolves, or a witch had cast a malignant spell upon her and she was wasting away in the forest, with none to know of her dire distress and to succour her. “Oh, Abigail,” she whispered, “I wish ye had not gone! I should have kenned better, for I be older than ye. Oh, Abigail! I shall be hanged and not ken whether good or evil happed to ye. I was fair selfish to send ye.” With full and penitent heart, she prayed that, although the Lord in His wisdom suffered her to die, yet he would, out of his great mercy, send her a sign that her sins had been forgiven, and her selfishness had not brought harm to Abigail. Having thus prayed, she rose from her knees and sat down on the straw bed. The minutes passed. She heard the jailer open her door and put her supper on the floor, but she paid no heed to him. Time dragged by, and her cell was filled with gloom. The leaves at the window, however, were still brightly green in the outside light.