ay their old boyish secret.

"He might have been content to fight with his party against ours, and
not make use of his knowledge to do his old friends an evil turn."

The feeling of bitter anger mingled with scorn increased as he stood
there in weary inactivity, longing to rejoin Sir Godfrey, but dreading
to stir, for fear he should bring danger upon his father's head.

And all this time he might be awake, and in grievous suffering; perhaps
dying, and feebly stretching out his hands for help, even believing that
his son had left him there to die.

Scarlett could bear the agony of his thoughts no longer; at any cost he
must pass beneath that opening, and rejoin his father, and to this end
he stepped forward softly, to find that he had planted his foot upon a
rotten stick fallen from above, and lightly as he trod, the dry, decayed
piece of wood parted with a loud noise.

Scarlett turned cold, and the chilly moisture gathered upon his brow and
within the palms of his hands.

"It is all over!" he muttered, as his hand went involuntarily to the
hilt of his sword; and then he dragged it from its sheath, and raised
the point, thinking of how strong his position was, and how few men
would dare to descend with that sharp point awaiting the first enemy who
came.

Then, half stifled by holding his breath, he began to breathe freely
once more, for there came a low sigh from above, then a faint rustling,
and then the regular, low breathing of some man asleep.

Scarlett stayed no longer, but stepped quickly across the wood-strewn
patch of the floor, and then hastened along the passage, and up the few
steps in the total darkness; and after a very little groping about,
found himself beside his father, who was sleeping peacefully, while his
head was cool, telling how the fever of his wounds had gone down.

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE.

COMPANIONS IN MISFORTUNE.

Scarlett Markham passed some hours by his father's side, listening to
his breathing in the darkness, and from time to time taking his hand as
a low moan was uttered, accompanied by a restless movement; but as the
time passed on, in spite of anxiety and his own weariness and pain, an
intense desire for food of some kind kept on attacking him, and each
time with more force.

What was he to do?

Had he been alone the task would have been simple. He would have gone
at once to the broken archway, waited his opportunity, and crept out.
Then he would have done his best to e