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.
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