CHAPTER XXXVII.
RESTORED—GENERAL REJOICINGS—HOW MR. MOLE WAS CRUELLY
MALIGNED—FATHER AND SON—THE DEATH KNELL AND THE REPRIEVE—"SOON WE
WEIGH ANCHOR"—GOODBYE TO GREECE.
"Mrs. Harkaway?"
"Who's there?"
"Me; your obsequious humble to command."
"Good gracious!"
And then upon the other side of the door Mrs. Harkaway was heard to whisper—
"It's Mr. Mole. I declare he is quite tipsy."
"You are right there, my dear Mrs. Harkaway," responded the gallant Isaac; "more than tipsy—obfuscated, groggy—excuse the slangy phrase—tight—not with liquor, but yet full of spirits—figuratively speaking."
"Whatever is he talking about?" muttered Mrs. Harkaway.
"About introducing a young gentleman to you," replied Mole, who overheard every word, but who was too overjoyed with recent events to take umbrage at any thing now.
"Excuse me just now, Mr. Mole," replied the lady, "I—I am dressing."
"Humph!"
Young Jack was bursting with impatience to push him aside and rush into his mother's arms.
But Mr. Mole restrained him.
"The young gentleman I would introduce, my dear Mrs. Harkaway, brings us news of our young Jack."
"Hah!"
A cry of joy, delight, anxiety, fear, hope, all commingled, burst from the mother of our young hero.
The door was opened, and Mrs. Harkaway stood upon the threshold.
She stared confusedly at the two boys.
"Mother!"
"Jack!"
No more.
In a moment they were locked in each other's arms.
"Oh, Jack, Jack!" exclaimed the astonished mother. "Where have you been? Now that you are come back, I may tell you I feared I should never see you again."
Jack's eyes filled with tears.
He kissed her tenderly and held out his hand to Harry.
"Here, mother dear," he said; "there is a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft to keep watch over the life of poor Jack—and Harry is the cherub."
"Hush! Jack."
"I shan't hush, Harry; you know that it's true. You are the cherub, and you know it. Why, mother, now that it's all over, and I am here, I must tell you that I never should have been here if it hadn't been for Harry."
"Bless you, Harry," said Mrs. Harkaway, squeezing his hand.
Just then, Mr. Mole, who had felt a tingling sensation at the nose, and fearing that he was about to disgrace his manly reputation by a tear, had retired, came stumping back with some news.
"Here comes Jack—old Jack, I mean. Here's luck for us."
A well-known footstep was heard, and Jack Harkaway entered the room.
As his eye fell upon Harry Girdwood, he started back, and the colour forsook his cheek.
Then he caught sight of his boy, and he gave a cry of delight as he held open his arms.
Young Jack flew to him
"Come here, Harry," cried Harkaway; "here, my boy—for you are a second son to me."
And the two boys were soon locked in his arms.
For some minutes not a word was spoken.
His heart was too full for speech, but whilst they were thus engaged—engrossed by their own happiness—a deep sound was heard.
A dismal, moaning sound.
A bell that sounded like a distant funeral knell.
What was it?
Harkaway started up at the mournful sound.
"Hark!" he exclaimed. "Do you hear that?"
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"An execution."
"Where?"
"At the prison."
"Of whom?"
"The brigands."
"The villains have earned their fates right well."
"Yes, yes," exclaimed Jack Harkaway, hurriedly; "but this execution must not take place, though Tomaso was shot yesterday."
"Tomaso, the brigand," cried young Jack, "then why not the rest of the brigands."
"Why? Because it is unjust, for the men condemned to suffer death have been sentenced for murdering you, my own boys."
As the word was uttered, there was a loud commotion, and Theodora burst into the room.
She gave a cry on seeing the two boys, and rushed up joyfully to Harry Girdwood.
"Thank Heaven you are safe," she said hysterically; "but my own brave boy, do you hear? Do you know that that bell sounds the death-knell of men who, bad and wicked as they are, have been wrongfully condemned?"
"I know."
"Yes, my girl," said Harkaway; "we know—but there is yet time to save them. Come on, to the prison."
They all left precipitately, and in a very brief space of time they were at the prison and the brigands respited.
As young Jack said, they had earned the full penalty of the law.
But they would not have it upon their consciences that these lawless ruffians should suffer for a crime which they had not committed.
"There is one strange fact about this," said the governor of the prison to Harkaway, "and that is, that one of the prisoners has taken the liberty of respiting himself."
"Which one?"
"The Englishman Hunston."
"What, Hunston escaped!"
"Impossible."
"Indeed it is not."
"But how?—when? Why Hunston any more than the others?"
"We can only give a guess," said the governor, "but it is a good one. His gaoler has disappeared with him; the rest is not a difficult matter to guess."
It was quite true.
Hunston, Harkaway's old schoolfellow and bitter foe, had once more contrived to elude justice.
Both had disappeared—prisoner and gaoler with him.
"I'm sorry for that," said Harkaway, "for it would have been a good thing to take care of that double-dyed traitor, but no matter, we shall have nothing to fear from him now; we have had enough of this place."
"Are we, then, to leave Greece, dad?"
"Yes, all our preparations are made, and in a few days, we will weigh anchor and get away from romantic Greece, and its precious scoundrels and brigands."