“The fellow is not dead, but I’ll warrant him not to stir for the next three hours—he’s not the first villain I have tripped up in that fashion.”
“Oh! Lord! Oh! Lord! whatever will become of me?” whimpered Sandy. “He’ll beat me to a jelly when he comes to himself.”
“Look you here, Sandy,” said Gabriel, hastily putting on his doublet and cloak. “No one shall harm you if you will but help us to escape. We will take you with us, and you shall never clap eyes on Aaron again. Come, let us down the steps, there’s a good fellow.”
He put his hand on the lad’s shoulder kindly, and Sandy, like a dog that has been caressed by his master, was ready to dare anything in his service.
“They will be feasting and gaming by now, will they not? and the guard will be but slight,” suggested Gabriel.
“Ay, sir, but there be a sentry at both the gates,” said Sandy, scratching his head.
“Help us, then, on to the Castle wall, the key of the entrance will surely be on this bunch. I know well there is a way from this tower on to the outer wall. Do you seize the keys, and lock Aaron safely into this room while we steal quietly down.”
Sandy began to look more hopeful. “You’ll be needing ropes,” he suggested. “And where be I to find them?”
“I saw a big coil of rope at the top of the tower the day my Lord Falkland came here,” said Gabriel. “I will come with you to search for it, and we will leave the rest to follow, bringing the keys with them.”
Sandy obeyed blindly, and before long the two had returned with the coil of rope. Never had the old walls of St. George’s Tower seen a more extraordinary sight than the escape of the forty prisoners of war in the dusk of that wintry afternoon. The white, haggard faces of the half-starved men bore an indescribable air of grim resolution. Silently as ghosts, they made their way down the tower, and with marvellous self-control crept one by one on to the outer wall.