"I will say it for you! May the Lord pity and save Black Donald's
soul, if that be yet possible, for the Saviour's sake!" prayed
Capitola, in a broken voice, with her foot upon the concealed and
fatal spring.
He laughed aloud, stretched forth his arms and rushed to clasp her.
She pressed the spring.
The drop fell with a tremendous crash!
The outlaw shot downwards--there was an instant's vision of a white
and panic-stricken face, and wild, uplifted hands as he disappeared,
and then a square, black opening, was all that remained where the
terrible intruder had sat.
No sight or sound came up from that horrible pit, to hint of the
secrets of the prison house.
One shuddering glance at the awful void and then Capitola turned and
threw herself, face downward, upon the bed, not daring to rejoice in
the safety that had been purchased by such a dreadful deed, feeling
that it was an awful, though a complete victory!
CHAPTER XX.
THE NEXT MORNING.
Oh, such a day!
So fought, so followed and so fairly won
Came not till now to dignify the times.
Since Caesar's fortunes.
--SHAKESPEARE.
Capitola lay upon the bed, with her face buried in the pillow, the
greater portion of the time from two o'clock until day. An
uncontrollable horror prevented her from turning lest she should see
the yawning mystery in the middle of the floor, or hear some awful
sound from its unknown depths.
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