There was a pause again.
“I can’t promise,” came up huskily, in faint smothered tones. “I say, is the door locked as well as bolted?”
“I cannot tell; it is covered with stones. Pray, pray promise me that you will not tell. I do want to help you to get away.”
“I can’t promise,” said Archy at last, after a bitter struggle with self. “I must go straight to my officer and tell him as soon as I get out.”
At that moment there was a sharp barking from the dog, who rushed up the steps to stand at the top for a few moments before coming down again.
“Won’t you help me?”
“To send my poor innocent father to prison,” said Celia in a low voice.
“I can’t hear you,” came from below.
“And I can’t tell you,” said Celia to herself. “What shall I do—what shall I do?”
She stole softly up the rugged steps, with her fingers in her ears, in dread lest she should be called upon to listen to the prisoner’s piteous appeals for help; and, as soon as she reached the top, she set off running as hard as she could go, to find her father, tell him all, and appeal to him to try and save the poor fellow from the cruel trials he was called upon to bear.