“Not a little bit, sir,” I cheerily agreed.
“Then,” says he, “I’ll go and change these clothes, while you write those letters to your friends.”
“You will find your masculine attire,” I said, with a sly twinkle for the Captain, “up the chimney in your chamber, tied up in a cloth. When the search was done we took them there from the wardrobe of my lord.”
“I am hoping that the soot has not penetrated ’em,” says he, making the most comic mouth.
“Amen to that!” says I; “and now be off, sir.”
With that dismissal he left the library for his sleeping chamber, whilst I, craving the due permission of the Captain, sat down at the writing table before pen and paper, and set about my part of the transaction.
The best portion of an hour passed in the scratching of the quill with intervals of perilous desultory talk. I was in the most hateful frame of mind. Its alternate flutterings of hope and fear were very irksome. The lad seemed to be playing fair, and yet I knew that nothing was more unreasonable to expect, of a character like his, than that he should be content to leave me in the lurch, when that very night he had had so clear an indication of my feelings. And yet, I reflected, the shadow of the scaffold is powerful indeed. Poor wretch, torn betwixt the vigorous animal’s love of life, and instincts of a higher kind! I weighed the matter with such a singular mingling of emotions, that I felt I should detest young Anthony if he left me to my fate, and yet should curse him for his folly if he refused his proffered freedom. During that hour of suspense the devil enjoyed himself, I think. Ten times I dismissed the matter by an energetic usage of the quill, yet ten times did it return upon me, with now and then a quiet jibe of my smiling enemy’s thrown in to bear it company.
After dashing off several letters in this savage manner, I looked up to consult the timepiece. It was five minutes short of three o’clock of the morning, and I began to grow impatient for the fugitive’s departure. The dawn would be here all too soon, and with it many perils. Each instant of delay was begrudged him by my mind’s inquietude. Soon, however, I heard footsteps in the hall, but the first feelings of relief that these occasioned were changed immediately into those of profound dismay. For there was a sound of voices too. A second later the door was opened, and thereupon the sight that met my eyes nearly made me swoon. Two persons entered. The first was the prisoner, in his masculine attire; the second, sparsely clad in a shirt, breeches, and stockings, hurriedly put on, was of all persons Corporal Flickers. I can never forget the rage and horror I endured, while the Corporal, who appeared by no means wholly awake, crammed his knuckles into his eyes to rub out the remains of his sleep, and protect them against the lamp glare. At first the two soldiers were too amazed to say a word; I was too afflicted; and the prisoner alone seemed able to break the oppressive silence.
“Bab,” says he, “you must forgive me for this, but you would persevere in your headlong folly, and I had to thwart you somehow. I could never have allowed you to pay the grievous price you had intended.”
“What do you mean?” I cried. “Do not tell me that you have delivered yourself voluntarily into the hands of your enemies!”