"If I had my hands free," said Sir Osborne, "I would try to climb up and see."
"Gads man! let's see your hands," said Groby; "mine are tied too, but I've managed many a tight knot with my teeth. Turn round, your worship, more to the light, such as it is. Ah, here I have it, the leading cord! Now pull; well done, millstones! It gives!" And what by dint of gnawing and pulling, in about five minutes Jekin Groby contrived to loosen the cord that fastened the knight's arms, and a very slight effort on Sir Osborne's part finished the work, and freed them completely. The knight then performed the same good office to his fellow-prisoner; and poor Jekin, overjoyed even at this partial liberation, jumped and sang with delight. "Hist! hist!" cried he, at length; "if I remember, that long rascal of a fellow did not lock the door: let us see. No, as I live, the bolt's not shot. Let us steal out; but first I'll look through the keyhole. Out upon it! there he sits, talking to two of his fellows; ay, and there's a latch too on the outside of this cursed door, with no way to lift it on the in."
"The window is the surest way," said the knight, "if I can but reach it. Lend me your back, good master Groby, and I will see. The sun shines strong through it, and yet I cannot perceive that it throws the shadow of any bar or grating."
"Welcome to my back," said the clothier: "but, oh! do not leave me in this place; pray don't ye, sir knight!"
"On my honour I will not!" replied the knight, "though it is not you they care to keep. Once I were away, you might have your liberty the next hour. But still I will not leave you."
"Thank you, sir knight, thank you!" said honest Jekin. "All I ask is, when you are up, help me up too; and if we can get out, leave me as soon as you like, for the less we are together, I take it, the better for Jekin Groby. And now upon my back; it is a stout one."
Jekin now bent his head against the wall, making a kind of step with his two clasped hands, by means of which Sir Osborne easily got his elbows on the deep opening of the window, which, from the thickness of the wall, offered a platform three feet wide, and with an effort he swung himself up. "Clear, all clear!" cried he, joyfully. "And now, my good Jekin, let us see how we can get you up. Stay, let me kneel here;" and turning round, he knelt down, holding out his hands to Jekin Groby. But it was in vain that Sir Osborne, with all his vast strength, strove to pull up the ponderous body of the Kentish clothier. He succeeded, indeed, in raising him about a foot from the ground, and holding him there, while he made a variety of kicks against the wall, and sundry other efforts to help himself up, all equally ineffectual; but at length Sir Osborne was obliged to let him down, and still remained gazing upon him with a sorrowful countenance, feeling both the impossibility, with any degree of honour, to leave him behind, and the impracticability of getting him out.
Poor Jekin, well understanding the knight's feeling, returned his glance with one equally melancholy; and after remaining for a moment in profound silence, he made a vast effort of generosity that again unloosed the flood-gates of his tears, in the midst of which he blubbered forth: "Go, sir knight, go, and God speed you! Heaven forbid that I should keep you here! Go!"
Sir Osborne jumped down, and shook him by the hand. "Never!" said he, "never! But there seems still some hope for us. That tall fellow, that we called Longpole this morning, is more friendly to us than he seems; and I can tell him something that will perhaps make him serve us more completely, if he will but hear me. Let me see whether he is now alone." And by the same means that Jekin Groby had before used to ascertain that the man was there, Sir Osborne discovered that the two other servants had left him, and that he was alone. "Hist! Richard Heartley!" said Sir Osborne, putting his mouth to the keyhole; "hist!"
"Who calls?" cried Longpole, starting up.