With the Men of Glen Moriston, two of them acquaintances, Boyd had already had dealings; and he needed not now to be informed as to their fidelity and strength.
"There is but one course! You must be off without delay!" he exclaimed to Lord Geoffry. "The great God holds thee in his hand, that he suffers this warning to reach thee and still leaves open the way of escape. There must be no stopping for food or better clothing, or what not—though all that I have, my lord, you know, were at your service. Those to whom you go will supply you. Downstairs at once! I know the door best for your passage out. Come!"
Bewildered still, by want of preparation for this flight, which it was more than probable he would never retrace, Sir Geoffry obeyed. Boyd, who was barefooted, went stealthily to the lantern and took it from its hook. Step by step they descended the staircase after him, the lantern flashing fitfully upon the wall. Opposite the lowest step there chanced to be driven a row of wooden pegs for the hanging up of outside garments.
"It is chilly. We had best not go without better protection," suggested Chisholm, in French; and his eye falling on the pile of damp wraps that Captain Jermain and his men had cast there, the outlaw detained Boyd until he had coolly laid hands upon a couple of fine military cloaks, belonging to the dragoons, and, in spite of Boyd's dumb-show protest, also helped himself to a small leathern pouch which his deft examination showed him contained a purse and sundry trifling matters.
"It makes your false servant who releases me a genuine varlet," the outlaw argued. "Let us spoil the Egyptians."
But Boyd only thought, indignantly: "There shines the real thief-spirit, with a vengeance!" Gilbert gave them his own and Andrew's hats, and, turning through a short passage, led them into a kind of "lean-to" opening into the garden. A rude door, fastened with a stout timber-bar, was all that now interposed between the fugitives and the outside world of liberty.
The solemnity and regret of the instant entered deeply into the spirits of both the young and the elderly man, in spite of the awful possibility of an alarm ringing through the silent house, now, before the confident hands of the outlaw, already on the bolt, should lift it. The generous and grateful soul of the refugee was distressed with the reflection of the tempest sure to descend upon his protector and his household; if not from the negligent Jermain, who for his own sake would hardly dare to make too great a matter of Chisholm's escape, yet from the untimely visitation of the suspicious Danforth.
"We must not be shod until we reach the very end of the garden," cautioned Hugh Chisholm.
Lord Armitage scarcely heard the words. "Would to Heaven I did not thus leave you, Boyd!" said he to Gilbert. "Had I believed that such was to be our parting, I doubt if I had suffered our meeting. After all that you have done, all that I owe to you—Boyd, forgive me!"
"I have nothing to forgive, my lord. You came welcomed; whatever service I have offered has been welcomely tendered—you go to save your life when I cannot. Farewell!"