e prison walls, in the free air he
loved, under the trees in the starlight, to make a right to her, as he
vaguely thought, by running off with her in this fashion--that was all
that concerned him at the moment. Where was he to take her? Would Uncle
Joseph receive them? Such thoughts just flashed through the tumult of
his brain, but seemed of no present importance. Angelot was mad that
night, mad with love of his cousin, with the desperate necessity which
needed to be met by desperate daring.

Helene followed him, trembling very much, to the top of the stairs.

"You have a candle there? Fetch it for me," he said.

She obeyed him, slipping through the tapestry into her own room. Once
there, she looked round with a wild wonder. Could this be
herself--Helene de Sainfoy--about to escape into the wide world with her
lover--and empty-handed? She looked down vaguely at her white evening
gown and thin shoes, snatched up her watch and chain and a diamond ring,
which were lying on the table, and slipped them into her pocket. It was
the work of a moment, yet when she carried the candle to Angelot, he was
white as death, and stamping with impatience; the flame in his eyes
frightened her.

He took the candle without a word and disappeared down the first steep
winding of the stairs. His moving shadow danced gigantic on the wall,
then was gone. Helene waited in the darkness. Even love and faith, with
hope added, were not strong enough to keep her brave and happy during
the terrible minutes of lonely waiting there. Her limbs trembled, her
heart thumped so that she had to lean for support against the cold damp
wall. She bent her head forward, eagerly listening. Why had she not gone
down with him? Somebody might hear him whistle. However, no whistle
came; only a dull sound of banging, which echoed strangely, alarmingly,
up the narrow staircase in the thickness of the wall.

It seemed to Helene that she had waited long and was becoming stupefied
with anxiety, when a light flashed suddenly upon her eyes, and she
opened them wide; she had never lost the childish fear which made her
shut them in the dark. Angelot had leaped up the stairs again and was
standing beside her, white and frowning.

"It is impossible," he said, in a hurried whisper. "I cannot move the
bar without tools. Come back into the chapel."

He set down the candlestick on the altar step, walked distractedly to
the end of the low vaulted room, then back to where she sto