endeavoured to survey the danger of her position,
and to think of the most persuasive
words she could use to the man into whose
power she had so strangely fallen. For the
present, however, she must be still, very still;
she must make no movement to betray
herself; and perhaps he might overlook her
presence until daylight came, and with it,
possible help. The night must be far spent ;
she must wait, and hope.

She had not to wait long. The creature
moved again—stood upright—staggered
towards the bed. For one moment—one
dreadful moment—she saw his face, his pale
pinched features, his flashing eyes, his black
bristling hair; but, thank God! he did not
see her. She shrunk behind the curtains;
he advanced to the bed, slowly, hesitatingly,
and the clanking sound of the broken chains
fell menacingly on her ear. He laid his
hand upon the curtains, and, for a few
moments fumbled to find the opening. These
moments were all in all to Ellen Stirling.
Despair sharpened her senses: she found
that the other side of the bed was not set so
close against the wall but that she could pass
between. Into the narrow space between, she
contrived to slip noiselessly.

She had hardly accomplished the difficult
feat, and sheltered herself behind the curtains,
when the creature flung itself on the bed, and
drawing the bedclothes round him, uttered a
sound more like the whinnying of a horse
than the laugh of a human being.

For some little time Miss Stirling stood in
her narrow hiding-place, trembling with cold
and terror, fearful lest some unguarded
movement should betray her, and bring down on
her a fate she dared not contemplate. She
lifted up her heart in prayer for courage; and
when her composure had in some degree
returned, it occurred to her that if she could
but reach the window, she might from that
position, possibly attract the attention of
some passers-by, and be released from her
terrible durance.

Very cautiously she attempted the perilous
experiment; her bare feet moved noiselessly
across the floor, and a friendly ray of
moonlight guided her safely towards the window.
As she put out her hand towards the
curtains, her heart gave a fresh bound of
terror, for it came in contact with something
soft and warm. At length, however, she
remembered that she had flung down her
fur cloak in that spot, and it was a mercy
to come upon it now, when she was chilled
to the bone. She wrapped it round her
and reached the window without further
adventure, or any alarm from the occupant
of the bed: whose heavy regular breathing
gave assurance that he was now sound
asleep. This was some comfort, and she
greatly needed it. The look-out from the
window was anything but inspiriting. The
stars still shone peacefully on the sleeping
earth; the moon still showed her pallid
visage; not a sight or sound presaged dawn;
and after long listening in vain for any sign
of life in the outer world, she heard the stable
clock strike four.

Only four!

She felt as if it were impossible to survive
even another hour of terror such as she had
just passed through. Was there no hope?
None.

She tried to support herself against the
window-frame, but her first touch caused it
to shake and creak in a manner that seemed
to her startlingly loud; she fancied that
the creature moved uneasily on its bed at the
sound. Drops of agony fell from her brow;
as minute after minute wore heavily on;
ever and anon a rustle of the bed-clothes,
or a slight clank of the manacled hands,
sent a renewed chill to her heart.

The clock struck five.

Still all without was silent. Suddenly, a
man's whistle was heard in the court, and
the driver of the mail-coach, lantern in
hand, crossed the yard towards the pavilion.
Would to God she could call to him, or
in any way attract his attention! but she
dared not make the slightest sound. He
looked up at the window, against which he
almost brushed in passing; and the light
he held, flashed on Miss Stirling's crouching
figure. He paused, looked again, and seemed
about to speak, when she hastily made signs
that he should be silent, but seek assistance
at the house. He gave her a glance of
intelligence, and hastened away.

How long his absence seemed! Could he
have understood her? The occupant of the
bed was growing every instant more and
more restless; he was rising from the bed
—he was groping round the room. They
would come too late, too late!

But no! steps in the courtyard—the key
turning in the lock—the door opens—then
with a yell that rang in Ellen Stirling's ear
until her dying day, the creature rushed to
her hiding-place, dashed the slight window-
frame to pieces, and finding himself baulked
of his purposed escape by the strength of the
iron bars outside, turned, like a wild beast,
on his pursuers. She was the first on whom
his glance fell. He clasped her throat; his
face was close to hers; his glittering eyes were
glaring at her in frenzy; when a blow from
behind felled him.

She awoke from a long swoon to find
herself safe in Mrs. Atherton's dressing-room,
and to hear that no one was hurt but the
poor maniac, and that he was again in the
charge of his keepers, from whom he had
escaped a few hours before.

"A few hours! A lifetime, Mary! But
Heaven be thanked, it is past like a wild
dream!"

It was not all past. One enduring effect
remained, ever after to imprint on Ellen
Stirling's memory, and on the memories of
all who knew her, the event of that long