heartily repenting his
words the next moment for fear that they should excite suspicion.

But they did not, for Ram only laughed and walked away.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

As the prisoner sat listening to the bang of the trap-door and the
rattling of the bolts, he could hardly contain himself. But knowing the
danger of the boy coming back and finding him gone, he forced himself to
stay where he was; and to pass away the time he opened the basket Ram
had now left in place of the other, and forced himself to eat.

But he could hardly swallow the food, which seemed tasteless in the
extreme, and he was about to give up and hasten back to his work when
his heart leaped, for there was the distant sound of the bolts being
drawn, and a minute or two later the soft yellow light came slowly
towards him and stopped.

"Just remembered," said its bearer. "Got half way home first, though.
Mother said I was to be sure and take back that basket. Put the stuff
out on the sail. Hullo, what you been doing to your hands?"

Archy started guiltily, and looked at them in the light to see that they
were covered with blood, from injuries that he had made unconsciously in
toiling with his knife against the stones.

"Tumbled down?" continued Ram without waiting for an answer. "Well,
'tis dark 'mong these stones. I used to trip over them, but I could go
anywhere now in the dark. Seem to feel like when they are near. Never
mind, tear up yer hankychy and wrap round. I'll bring you one o' mine
next time I come. There we are. Haven't forgot the basket this time.
I say?"

"Well?"

The lad was ten yards away now, holding the lanthorn above his head.

"You lost a chance."

"What do you mean?"

"Jemmy Dadd isn't up by the door. You might have given me a topper with
a stone, and run away; too late now."

He ran off laughing, and holding the lanthorn down low to make sure of
his way.

But Archy did not start up in pursuit. He saw a better way out now, and
waiting till he felt convinced that the boy must be well on his way
home, he jumped up, felt his way to the crevice, and was soon after hard
at work picking the mortar from between the stones.

Now and then, as he grew faint and weary, it seemed to him that he had
made no progress, but the little heap of mortar told different tales,
and once more taking heart he toiled away.

It seemed a very easy thing to do, to loosen one stone in a rugged wall,
draw it out, and then re