“I—I can’t thank you enough,” said the middy, in a half suffocated voice.
“Well, who wants thanks, sailor?” cried Aleck. “Don’t go on like that. It’s all right. I’m as glad as you are. Now, then—oh, I say, your being shut up here has pulled you down!”
“Yes, more than I knew, old fellow,” said the middy. “There, I’m better now. You can’t tell what an effect it had upon one. There were times in the night when, after dragging and dragging at that miserable iron, I grew half wild and ready to gnaw at my leg to get it free. Why, if you know the way out we can escape now.”
“Yes, but let’s play fair by Eben Megg. He has gone to try and get the key to open this thing, and I promised that I would wait till he came back.”
“But he will not come back, I feel sure. He’s only a smuggler, and ready to promise anything.”
“Oh, no,” said Aleck, “I don’t think that. If he is not taken by the men from the boat he’ll come back, I feel sure. So let’s wait till the morning.”
“I can’t—I tell you I can’t,” cried the midshipman, half wild with hysterical excitement. “I must get out now at any cost. I couldn’t bear another night in this place.”
“Nonsense,” cried Aleck, good-humouredly. “You bore it when you felt almost hopeless as a prisoner; surely now that you are as good as free you can manage to bear one more night!”
“No, I cannot and I will not,” cried the young officer. “See to that lanthorn at once, and let’s get out of this living tomb.”
Aleck lit a fresh candle and secured it in the sconce, watching the midshipman the while as he sat up rubbing the freshly-freed leg, and then stood up and stamped his foot as if the leg were stiff. Then, as if satisfied that he could get along pretty well, he turned to his companion.