“I will do what I can to prove that a Jew is not ungrateful,” answered Bacri. “If they leave us unmolested here till night-fall we may find a way of escape for you, at all events from the city, but it is only such as desperate men would choose to take.”
“We are desperate men,” said Lucien quietly.
“Once outside the walls,” continued the Jew, “you must keep perfectly close and still by day, for a diligent search will be made for you, and only at night will you be able to creep out from your place of hiding to steal what you can for food, and to attempt to gain the coast, where your only chance of escape lies in seizing one of the small feluccas in which the piracies of the Algerines are carried on, and putting off to sea without provisions,—with the certainty of being pursued, and the all but certainty of being overtaken.”
“Such risks are better than death or slavery,” answered Francisco. “We think not of danger. The only thing that gives me concern is how we are to get my poor son out of the Bagnio.”
“I will manage that for you,” said Bacri, “for my gold is at least powerful with menials; but in order to do this I shall have to leave the house for a time and must conceal you in a cellar.”
“Do as you will, Bacri,” said Francisco; “we are in your hands and place implicit confidence in you.”
“Well, follow me!” said the Jew.
Rising and leaving the skiffa, he conducted them down a staircase into a small cellar, which was almost too low to admit of their standing erect. Here he pointed out a shelf on which were a pot of water and a loaf, also a bundle of straw on which they might rest when so disposed. Having described carefully to them the manner of Mariano’s escape over the roof of the house and by the city wall, and having given them the rope that had been used on that occasion, he said—
“Now I leave you. I must lock the trap-door that leads to this dungeon, and carry away the key, because if rioters were to break in and find the key in it, they would at once discover your refuge.”
“And what if you be killed, Bacri, and we be left here without a soul in the world who knows of our whereabouts?” said Francisco, with a look of anxiety. “I’d rather be bastinadoed to death than be buried alive after all.”