No escape that day, and as he had to make up his mind to this, he waited until Allstone came with a rough breakfast, when he made a peremptory demand for some means of washing and making himself more presentable.
“My orders be to bring you something to sleep on and your meals, that’s all,” growled the fellow. “I had no orders about washing tackle.”
“Get out, you surly ill-conditioned ruffian,” cried Hilary; and the fellow grinned.
“Here’s something for you,” he said, contemptuously jerking a letter on to the floor, which Hilary picked up.
“Look here, Master Allstone,” he cried, shaking a finger at him; “one of these days I shall come here with a dozen or two of our brave boys, and if I don’t have you flogged till you beg my pardon for all this, my name is not Hilary Leigh.”
“Bah!” ejaculated the man; and he went away making as much noise as he could with the lock and bar so as to annoy his prisoner, but without success, for that individual was reading the letter he had received.
It was as follows:—
“My dear Hilary,—Fate has placed us on opposite sides, and though she has now thrown us together, I am compelled to hold aloof until you can say to me, ‘Here is my parole of honour not to betray you or to escape!’ or ‘I see that I am on the side of a usurper, and abjure his service. From henceforth I am heart and soul with you.’ When you can send me either of those messages, Hilary, Adela and I are ready to receive you with open arms. Till then we must be estranged; but all the same, my dear boy, accept my gratitude and love for your bravery in saving our lives.—Affectionately yours, Henry Norland.”
“Then we shall have to remain estranged,” said Hilary as he stood by the open window refolding the letter and thinking of his position.
“Hil! Hil!” came from below.