"Balfour," said Richard, earnestly, "will you do me a favor?"
"Yes, lad, any thing," replied the old man, softly. The word "lad" seemed so inapplicable to that gray-headed, care-lined face, which he had known so young and comely, that the misuse of it touched the speaker. "You know I will."
"Even though you should run a risk," said Richard, "within a day or two of your freedom?"
"Ay; for your sake, I would do that and more."
"God bless you, if there be a God!" answered those haggard lips. "Ask leave to go to the village to-morrow, and get me a file."
"Hush!—the warder."
The conversation thus interrupted was resumed next day.
"Here is the file," said Balfour; "hide it in your mattress. But, lad, you will be mad to use it. I pray you be patient. It is only a twelvemonth now."
Richard shook his head, with a ghastly smile. "I must try," said he.
"Nay, nay; you will be retaken and flogged, lad; think of that."