this, and stood
at gaze. "I do not know you either," he muttered irresolutely, his hand
still on the ladder.

A smile of surprising humour played on the soldier's face. "Nay, but you
knew _him_!" he retorted, pointing upwards with his hand. "Trust me,
young sir," he added significantly, "I am less inclined to mount
now--than I was before."

The clerk intervened before Felix could resent the insult. "Steady," he
said; "I will go up and do it."

"Not so!" Felix rejoined, pushing him aside in turn. And he ran up the
ladder. But near the top he paused, and began to descend again. "I have
no knife," he said shamefacedly.

"Pshaw! Let me come!" cried the stranger. "I see you are both good
comrades. I trust you. Besides, I am more used to this ladder work than
you are, and time is everything."

He ran up as he spoke, and, standing on the highest round but one, he
grasped the bar above his head, and swung himself lightly up, so as to
gain a seat on it. With more caution he wormed himself along it until he
reached the rope. Fortunately there was a long coil of this about the
bar; and warning his companions in a whisper, he carefully, and with
such reverence as the time and place allowed, let down the body to them.
They received it in their arms; and had just loosened the noose from the
neck when an outburst of voices and the tramp of footsteps at the nearer
end of the street surprised them. For an instant the two stood in the
gloom, breathless, stricken still, confounded. Then with a single
impulse they lifted the body between them, and huddled blindly towards
the door of the Portails' house. It opened at their touch, they stumbled
in, and it fell to behind them. The foremost of the armed watch had been
within ten paces of them. The escape was narrow.

Yet they had escaped. But what next? What of their comrade? The moment
the door was closed behind them, one at least would have rushed out
again, ay, to certain death, so strongly had the soldier's trust
appealed to his honour. But they had the body in their arms; and by the
time it was laid on the stairs, a score of men had passed. The
opportunity was over. They could do nothing but listen. "Heaven help
him!" fell from the clerk's quivering lips. Pulling the door close, they
stood, looking each moment to hear a challenge, a shot, the clash of
swords. But no. They heard the party halt under the gallows, and pass
some brutal jest, and go on. And that was all.

They could