“We’ve got him safe now, lads,” said Dick Price, speaking, for the first time that night, in unguarded tones, “you’d better do the deed. The sooner it’s done the better.”
While he was speaking one of the three men opened a large clasp knife and advanced towards Gascoyne.
“Father,” said Henry, cutting the rope that bound him, “you are free at last!”
Gascoyne started, but before he had time to utter the exclamation of surprise that sprang to his lips, his hand was seized by the muffled figure that sat at his side.
“Oh! Gascoyne, forgive us—forgive me!” said Mary Stuart in a trembling voice. “I did, indeed, know something of what they meant to do, but I knew nothing of the cruel violence that these bonds—”
“Violence!” cried Dick Price, “I put it to yourself, Mister Gascoyne, if I didn’t treat ye as if ye wos a lamb?”
“Wot a blissin’ it is for a man to git his mouth open agin, and let his breath go free,” cried Jo Bumpus, with a deep sigh. “Come, Corrie, give us a cheer—hip! hip! hip!—”
The cheer that followed was stirring and wonderfully harmonious, for it was given in a deep bass, and a shrill treble, with an intermediate baritone “Ho!” from Jakolu.
“I know it, Mary, I know it;” said Gascoyne, and there was a slight tremor in his deep voice as he drew his wife towards him, and laid her head upon his breast. “You have never done me an evil turn—you have done me nothing but good—since you were a little child. Heaven bless you, Mary!”
“Now, father,” said Henry, “I suppose you have no objection to make your escape?”