“And as for you, sir, you’d better make the most of this day, for ’tis like to be your last. We give spies short shrift in Oxford.”
“I am no spy,” said Humphrey, indignantly.
“Men say that the gentleman that journeyed from London t’other day had only come on a matter of business about moneys due to him; but the Governor of Oxford, Sir Arthur Aston, had him racked nathless and hung him the day after,” said Aaron, with a chuckle.
Humphrey muttered an imprecation and turned away.
Whereupon Aaron burst into a fit of laughter.
“You’d better have a care, sir, your fellow-prisoners don’t allow profane words, and come from the ranks where twelve-pence is the fine for every oath. Oh, yes, I know you well, you dogs. And pray where is now your God, you Roundhead rogues? You prayed to the Lord to deliver you, and you see how He hath delivered you, ye rebels!”
The prisoners maintained a resolute silence, but Gabriel’s heart was cheered when, as if in reply to the taunt, the robin overhead burst into a song full of hope and glad confidence.
The daily dole of food having been left, Aaron and Sandy withdrew, and the prisoners spent the greater part of the morning in discussing the possibility of escape for the newcomer, whose life was evidently in danger. About noon Gabriel reluctantly fed the tame robin for the last time, then climbing with Humphrey’s aid up to the narrow, deeply splayed window, he let the bird out into the open, and with a sad heart watched it fly away over the snowy country.
“I see the mill stream is frozen,” he said, scrambling down again.
“Would the ice bear, think you?”