“Get me my pencil and a scrap of paper, and let me write it down for him to read; or no, this might involve observation, detection.  I must rely upon your memory, Dinah, which I have reason to know is good.  Now, listen and understand me.  I promise to Mr. McDermot one thousand dollars, to be paid down to-morrow morning, if he will help me to escape to-night.  And I promise you liberty for all of your family, and security for yourself, if you will assist me, or even be silent, and let me go without a word, without informing.  Do you understand this, Dinah?  If so, repeat it to me low, yet distinctly.”

She obeyed me, evincing wonderful shrewdness in her way of putting the affair, as she said she meant to do, in approaching McDermot.

“And do you believe me, Dinah, now that I have promised so solemnly to pay these rewards?”

“Dats neider here nor dar, Miss Mirim, so dat McDermot bleves you, dat’s enough; wat dis chile bleves am her own business.  Dem Irish am mighty stupid kine ob creeturs; dey swallows down mos’ any thing you chooses to tell ’em.”

A voice without, uplifted at this juncture, as if it had long been expending itself in ineffectual appeals, now summoned Dinah, harshly and emphatically.

The Lady Anastasia had departed, after a brief interview, and Mrs. Clayton, unable to leave her bed, felt naturally anxious to ascertain the cause of Dinah’s prolonged ministry on her fellow-prisoner.

I heard only the words, “De pattikalerest lady I ebber come acrost about de feel of water, an’ I is done tired out, I is—­” The rest was lost, as Dinah vanished from the apartment of the invalid.  In the next moment, I heard the key turned, and the outlet bolt drawn, and the growl of the surly sable watch-dog without, who, in Mrs. Raymond’s absence, officiated as our jailer and Cerberus.

It was early evening when Dinah returned, for she brought to us but two meals at this season, the necessary food for Ernie being always ready in a closet.  She came ushered in, as usual, by Mrs. Raymond, who bore with her on this occasion what she called savory broth, concocted, by her own fair hands, for the benefit of her suffering parent.  While Clayton was employed in supping this mutton abomination, with a loud noise peculiar to the vulgar, and Mrs. Raymond whispering inaudible words above the bowl, I was ostensibly employed in tearing a croquet to pieces with my fork, while I interrogated Dinah, in a low, even voice, between each shred, unintelligible, I knew, in the next room, through its monotony, on the success of her mission, and caught her muttered rather than murmured replies eagerly in return.

“Did you speak with him, Dinah?”