"My boy! my boy!" said Thorold, and recognised his own son Ulric, whom he had only lost that week, and traced to the castle—hence his anxiety for Osric's immediate aid—and the poor father wept.
Happily Osric had the key of the thumbscrew, and the lad was soon set free.
"Break up all the instruments of torture," said Thorold.
Axes were at their girdles: they smashed all the hateful paraphernalia. No sound could possibly be heard above; the depth of the dungeons and the thickness of the walls gave security.
"Lock up all the cells, all the outer doors, and bring the keys; we will throw them into the river."
It took a long time to get the poor disabled victims through the passages—many had to be carried all the way; but they were safely brought to the large boat, and placed on beds of straw or the like; not one sentinel taking the alarm, owing to the darkness and the storm.
"Now for Dorchester Abbey," said Osric. "We must take sanctuary, before daybreak, for all these poor captives, they are incapable of any other mode of escape."
"And we will attend as an escort," said the outlaws. "Then for the forest."
So Osric atoned for his residence in Wallingford Castle.