“Come on!” he cried, grasping her by the wrist with no gentle regard.  “He’s out of the way, but we have no time to lose.  The others may miss you at any moment, and we must be in the wood if we hope to fool them.”

“I have changed my mind—­” she began, holding back as he dragged her after him down the slope.

“It is too late,” he said, harshly.  “You will soon be with your friends, my child.  Do not lose heart, but trust to me.”

“Who are you?  You are not a priest.  Why have you disguised yourself—­”

“Not so loud, my child, not so loud!  They may have guards even here.  If I am not a priest, then may heaven shut its gates on me forever.  Because I am a man and have undone one of your enemies, you should not question my calling.  It is no time for prayer.  When we are safe from pursuit, you will regret the doubt you have just expressed.  Trust to me, my child.  But run, for God’s sake, run!  Don’t hang back when all depends on our speed in the next half-hour.”

“Where are you taking me?  Answer, or I shall refuse to go another step with you!” she exclaimed, now thoroughly aroused and determined.

“My wagon is hitched in the wood over there.  In it we will go to a town up the valley, where I have the promise of help.  I could have brought a big force of men with me, but don’t you see what a mistake it would have been?  Rather than surrender you to a force they would have killed you and secreted your body in the passages under the castle.  It is commonly known that the cellars are paved with skeletons.”  Here Dorothy shuddered in recollection.  “Strategy was the only means of getting you out safely.”

“They would not have killed me,” she cried, breathlessly.  They were moving rapidly along the level roadway now, and his grip on her wrist was like a clasp of iron.

“To save themselves?  Of course, they would—­as they would a dog!” he said.

“They are my friends, and they are the best, the truest in the world,” she gasped, eager to keep the promise of protection made in the farewell note.

“You think they are, madam, but how could they treat you as they have if they are friends?” He had turned into the wood, and it was necessary to proceed more cautiously on account of the darkness.  She realized that she had erred in saying they were friends, and turned cold with apprehension.

“I mean, they treated me well—­for criminals,” she managed to say.

“Criminals!” he snarled.  “Bah!  Of course they are criminals of the worst kind, but they will never be punished.”

“I’m afraid they are so clever that no one will ever find out who they really are.”

He stopped with a lurch, and she could feel that he was looking at her in amazement.

“I know who they are, and you know them, too,” he said, slowly.  “Perhaps nobody else knows, but we know that my Lord and Lady Saxondale and the two Americans were your abductors.  The man I dumped into the ravine was that little villain Turk.”