“I really cannot inform you where she is,” I answered, petulantly.  “I scarcely think it was worth while to disturb me for the sake of asking me a question you must have known my inability to answer.”

“But how did she get out, Miss Harz?”

“By means of the key under your head, which you will find in the lock, no doubt, where it was left.  She promised me, insolently enough, to bolt the door outside to prevent egress, and I, to prevent ingress, locked it within.”

“So she assured you we were both prisoners by night, did she?  Well, I am glad you have proof at last of what I told you.”

“I have no proof; but, as I have made up my mind to come to terms of some kind very soon, I thought it useless to investigate.  Do you feel better for my laying on of hands?  You seem refreshed.”

“Yes, greatly better; a good sleep was what I needed, and I fell into a doze while you were beside the bed, I believe.  I have heard of magnetism before as a means of relief for pain; now I am convinced of its efficacy.”

“Magnetism!  You don’t think it amounts to that, do you?  You flatter me;” and I laughed.

“I do, indeed, and I am sure I am much obliged to you, Miss Monfort; though, for that matter, you can never say, even when you come to your own again—­which you will now do shortly—­that I have not been considerate and attentive to you while in confinement.”

“You need not be afraid of any complaint as far as you are concerned.  I think I comprehend you and your motives by this time.  Let there be peace between us from this hour.”  And I extended my hand to her, which, very unexpectedly to me, she seized and kissed—­a proceeding deprecated loathingly.  “I assure you,” I added, laughingly, “I would rather even marry Englehart than continue here.”

“Then you will marry Mr. Gregory?”

“I do not know—­either that or die, I suppose—­whichever God pleases.  I am weary of being a prisoner—­weary of you, of every thing about me.  All that I cared for is lost to me, and I might as well surrender, I suppose; not at discretion, however!”

She turned from me silently, and sought her couch again; but I felt instinctively that she slept no more; and so we lay, silently watching one another, until morning.  I dared not renew my efforts to escape, at all events, in the night-time, when I knew the house was locked, and watched without, as well as within—­for this was the old habit of the square.

One—­two—­three—­four o’clock came, and passed, and were reported by the deep-tongued clock in the room beneath me, before I slept, and then I dreamed a vision so vivid, that I wakened from it excited—­exhausted—­as though its frightful figments had been stern realities.

I thought that the noble dog Ossian came to me again and laid the double-footed key upon my lap, as he had done at Beauseincourt—­staining my white dress with blood, not mud, this time, and that Colonel La Vigne struck it furiously to the floor, and handed me instead the wooden one I had carved, with the words of the proverb: