Then came wild and piercing cries for help--in a woman's voice.
The young clergyman cried out, _"Her_ voice! _her_ voice!" and dashed
into the shrubbery with a speed Mary Wells had never seen equaled. He
had won the 200-yard race at Oxford in his day.
The agonized screams were repeated, and Mary Wells screamed in response
as she ran toward the place.
CHAPTER XVI.
SIR CHARLES BASSETT was in high spirits this afternoon--indeed, a
little too high.
"Bella, my love," said he, "now I'll tell you why I made you give me
your signature this morning. The money has all come in for the wood,
and this very day I sent Oldfield instructions to open an account for
you with a London banker."
Lady Bassett looked at him with tears of tenderness in her eyes.
"Dearest," said she, "I have plenty of money; but the love to which I
owe this present, that is my treasure of treasures. Well, I accept it,
Charles; but don't ask me to spend it on myself; I should feel I was
robbing you."
"It is nothing to me how you spend it; I have saved it from the enemy."
Now that very enemy heard these words. He had looked from the "Heir's
Tower," and seen Sir Charles and Lady Bassett walking on their side the
wall, and the nurse carrying his heir on the other side.
He had come down to look at his child in the sun; but he walked softly,
on the chance of overhearing Sir Charles and Lady Bassett say something
or other about his health; his design went no further than that, but
the fate of listeners is proverbial.
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