They recognized the voice of the man-servant, and at once opened the window.

He had something to say to the ladies in private.  How could he say it?  A domestic circumstance which had been marked by Launce, as favorable to the contemplated elopement, was now noticed by the servant as lending itself readily to effecting the necessary communication with the ladies.  The lock of the gardener’s tool-house (in the shrubbery close by) was under repair; and the gardener’s ladder was accessible to any one who wanted it.  At the short height of the balcony from the ground, the ladder was more than long enough for the purpose required.  In a few minutes the servant had mounted to the balcony, and could speak to Natalie and her aunt at the window.

“I can’t rest quiet,” said the man, “I’m off on the sly to see what’s going on down in the village.  It’s hard on ladies like you to be locked in here.  Is there anything I can do for either of you?”

Natalie took up Lady Winwood’s telegram.  “Launce ought to see this,” she said to her aunt.  “He will be here at daybreak,” she added, in a whisper, “if I don’t tell him what has happened.”

Miss Lavinia turned pale.  “If he and Richard meet—­” she began.  “Tell him!” she added, hurriedly—­“tell him before it is too late!”

Natalie wrote a few lines (addressed to Launce in his assumed name at his lodgings in the village) inclosing Lady Winwood’s telegram, and entreating him to do nothing rash.  When the servant had disappeared with the letter, there was one hope in her mind and in her aunt’s mind, which each was ashamed to acknowledge to the other—­the hope that Launce would face the very danger that they dreaded for him, and come to the house.

They had not been long alone again, when Sir Joseph drowsily opened his eyes and asked what they were doing in his room.  They told him gently that he was ill.  He put his hand up to his head, and said they were right, and so dropped off again into slumber.  Worn out by the emotions through which they had passed, the two women silently waited for the march of events.  The same stupor of resignation possessed them both.  They had secured the door and the window.  They had prayed together.  They had kissed the quiet face on the pillow.  They had said to each other, “We will live with him or die with him as God pleases.”  Miss Lavinia sat by the bedside.  Natalie was on a stool at her feet—­with her eyes closed, and her head on her aunt’s knee.

Time went on.  The clock in the hall had struck—­ten or eleven, they were not sure which—­when they heard the signal which warned them of the servant’s return from the village.  He brought news, and more than news; he brought a letter from Launce.

Natalie read these lines: 

“I shall be with you, dearest, almost as soon as you receive this.  The bearer will tell you what has happened in the village—­your note throws a new light on it all.  I only remain behind to go to the vicar (who is also the magistrate here), and declare myself your husband.  All disguise must be at an end now.  My place is with you and yours.  It is even worse than your worst fears.  Turlington was at the bottom of the attack on your father.  Judge if you have not need of your husband’s protection after that!—­L.”