I confess, than they'll give you in an hour's time, if you
remain; but it may lead elsewhere."

The boy's mouth was parched. His eyes burned in their sockets, and yet
his limbs shook with cold--but not the cold of that September night.

"I'll try it," he muttered with a gulp. Then suddenly clutching
Galliard's arm, he pointed to the window.

"What ails you now?" quoth Crispin testily.

"The dawn, Sir Crispin. The dawn."

Crispin looked, and there, like a gash in the blackness of the heavens,
he beheld a streak of grey.

"Quick, Sir Crispin; there is no time to lose. The minister said he
would return at daybreak."

"Let him come," answered Galliard grimly, as he moved towards the
casement.

He gripped the lower bar with his lean, sinewy hands, and setting his
knee against the masonry beneath it, he exerted the whole of his huge
strength--that awful strength acquired during those years of toil as a
galley-slave, which even his debaucheries had not undermined. He felt
his sinews straining until it seemed that they must crack; the sweat
stood out upon his brow; his breathing grew stertorous.

"It gives," he panted at last. "It gives."

He paused in his efforts, and withdrew his hands.

"I must breathe a while. One other effort such as that, and it is done.
'Fore George," he laughed, "it is the first time water has stood my
friend, for the rains have sadly rusted that iron."

Without, their sentry was pacing before the door; his steps came nearer,
passed, and receded; turned, came nigh again, and again passed on.
As once more they grew faint, Crispin seized the bar and renewed his
attempt. This time it was easier. Gradually it ceded to the strain
Galliard set upon it.

Nearer came the sentry's footsteps, but they went unheeded by him who
toiled, and by him who watched with bated breath and beating heart. He
felt it giving--giving--giving. Crack!

With a report that rang through the room like a pistol shot, it broke
off in its socket. Both men caught their breath, and stood for a second
crouching, with straining ears. The sentry had stopped at their door.

Galliard was a man of quick action, swift to think, and as swift to
execute the thought. To thrust Kenneth into a corner, to extinguish the
light, and to fling himself upon the bed was all the work of an instant.

The key grated in the lock, and Crispin answered it with a resounding
snore. The door opened, and on the threshold stood the Roundhead
trooper