Upon Mrs. Willoughby the sensation was simply tremendous.  She had begun by “humoring” the delirious man; but now she found his delirium taking a course which was excessively embarrassing.  The worst of it was, there was truth enough in his language to increase the embarrassment.  She remembered at once how the mournful face of this man had appeared before her in different places.  Her thoughts instantly reverted to that evening on the balcony when his pale face appeared behind the fountain.  There was truth in his words; and her heart beat with extraordinary agitation at the thought.  Yet at the same time there was some mistake about it all; and he was clearly delirious.

“Oh, Heavens!” he cried.  “Can you ever forgive me?  Is there a possibility of it?  Oh, can you forgive me?  Can you—­can you?”

He was clearly delirious now.  Her heart was full of pity for him.  He was suffering too.  He was bound fast.  Could she not release him?  It was terrible for this man to lie there bound thus.  And perhaps he had fallen into the hands of these ruffians while trying to save her and her sister.  She must free him.

“Would you like to be loosed?” she asked, coming nearer.  “Shall I cut your bonds?”

She spoke in a low whisper.

“Oh, tell me first, I implore you!  Can you forgive me?”

He spoke in such a piteous tone that her heart was touched.

“Forgive you?” she said, in a voice full of sympathy and pity.  “There is nothing for me to forgive.”

“Now may Heaven forever bless you for that sweet and gentle word!” said Dacres, who altogether misinterpreted her words, and the emphasis she placed on them; and in his voice there was such peace, and such a gentle, exultant happiness, that Mrs. Willoughby again felt touched.

“Poor fellow!” she thought; “how he must have suffered!”

“Where are you fastened?” she whispered, as she bent over him.  Dacres felt her breath upon his cheek; the hem of her garment touched his sleeve, and a thrill passed through him.  He felt as though he would like to be forever thus, with her bending over him.

“My hands are fastened behind me,” said he.

“I have a knife,” said Mrs. Willoughby.  She did not stop to think of danger.  It was chiefly pity that incited her to this.  She could not bear to see him lying thus in pain, which he had perhaps, as she supposed, encountered for her.  She was impulsive, and though she thought of his assistance toward the escape of Minnie and herself, yet pity and compassion were her chief inspiring motives.

Mrs. Willoughby had told Girasole that she had no knife; but this was not quite true, for she now produced one, and cut the cords that bound his wrists.  Again a thrill flashed through him at the touch of her little fingers; she then cut the cords that bound his ankles.

Dacres sat up.  His ankles and wrists were badly swollen, but he was no longer conscious of pain.  There was rapture in his soul, and of that alone was he conscious.