"Not till morning, at least," said Denis; "and to-morrow I shall be safe in India. I have strength enough for anything short of carrying off this fort on my shoulders. I have, ere now, walked fifty miles for a wager, and on the second day of our journey, thanks to that limping mule, we did not go far. But I'll prepare myself for my long trudge by a hurried meal ere I start."
Denis ate with feverish haste the food which he could not see. His dinner was despatched in three minutes. What remained he thrust into his pocket. "Now, I'm ready to be off!" he exclaimed; "hurrah for freedom and home!"
"Dermot," said Walter, earnestly, "we are about to part, probably never again to meet in this world. You are bound on a most dangerous journey, and I——" he cared not to finish the sentence. "Let us once more kneel down together, and commend ourselves, soul and body, to the care of a merciful God."
"Oh, I've no time for prayer!" cried Denis, impatiently; "you pray enough for us both. Now for a start! The first step is what puzzles me most—how to get through yon hole, seeing that my feet must go first, for I must not descend head downwards. But where there's a will there's a way!"
To facilitate his climb to the window, Denis dragged the charpai beneath it; but even when raised upon this, he could not bring his feet to the required elevation, though clinging to the rope to help him. The unexpected mechanical difficulty irritated the impetuous young man.
"Walter, I must climb on your shoulder."
"Perhaps you will remember that I am wounded," said Walter, coldly.
"Of course I don't mean your wounded shoulder; just stand up. Oh, I forget you are lame—how very provoking! Still you can give me some help."
At the cost of much suffering, the help was given; without it, notwithstanding his agility, and the desperate efforts which he made, Denis could not have accomplished his purpose. With one foot planted on the unwounded shoulder, maintaining his balance by means of the rope, Denis contrived to protrude the other foot through the hole. To make the first follow it was a feat painfully hard to accomplish, and every unsuccessful attempt caused actual agony to Walter. At length the long limbs of Denis were in outer air. But another annoyance was to be encountered. The width of the aperture hardly admitted the passage of shoulders so broad as those of the young Irishman. Denis pushed, struggled, gasped and groaned, sorely grazing his skin against the rough sides of the hole. Most terrible indeed would be his fate if he remained fixed as in a vice, his head and shoulders within the prison, his feet dangling helplessly in the air. For some minutes—terrible minutes—Denis was utterly unable to get in or out. The drops burst forth on his brow, as much from the dread that he would not be able to force his way through, as from the frantic efforts which he made to do so. At last—at last through the hole which had been so completely blocked up by the form of Denis as to leave the room in utter darkness, Walter could see the stars once more. There was a head still visible, then hands clinging to the knotted line; then they too disappeared—Dermot Denis was free!
Walter listened with breathless attention for any sound from below. He heard but the screech of the owl pursuing his nightly flight; even that familiar sound made him start. Then surely there was something like a crash on the brushwood low down. Had Denis reached the bottom of the descent? Walter had no means of judging by sight, but he got hold of the rope not far from the hook, and by pulling it ascertained that it was hanging loose, not strained tight by the weight of a man. Dermot must either have climbed down or have fallen,—which?