When we reached the cave Miriam produced a key which she had secured from her father. It fitted the door of the cave which had been walled up and turned into a dungeon. Within, upon short examination, we discovered Sir Evelin. He was a fearful sight; thin, lank, nothing but skin and bones. He was so weak that he could neither speak nor walk. He looked blankly into the lantern like one who cannot see. Annetje poured a spoonful of liquor which he took mechanically, but he showed no sign of intelligence.
“Oh, this is terrible, terrible, terrible,” sobbed Miriam.
I lifted him up—he was as light as a child—and carried him to the landing. We loosened a boat and got ready to take him to Yorke by river.
“Good-by,” said Miriam. “You and Annetje must attend to this. My place is with my father.”
“Miriam,” I cried, taking her hand.
“No, no,” she said, putting me back, “not now. Go at once and save his life.”
I began to remonstrate, but she would not hear a word. Soon we were aboard the boat, and then in a minute we were out upon the black river, where we could no longer see the silent figure on the shore. Annetje held Sir Evelin’s head in her lap and shielded his face from the chill wind. I worked the oars. Before long we were abreast of the first scattered lights of the town north of the wall.
Ever since I had left Yorke, I had kept the two keys the governor had given me. I resolved now to go to the little postern gate in the west palisade rather than to rouse the watch at the city gate in the wall. Ever since the fright over an invasion of the French, these gates had been locked, and I feared difficulty and delay from an attempt to enter in that manner. So, by way of the postern, we got him speedily to Marmaduke Hall. But the mistress was not at home.
“Where is she?” I asked.
“At the governor’s ball.”