That day and the next they labored at the cairn, until at last the stones were sufficiently removed to allow the monolith to be raised by a derrick into an upright position. They had just rigged the derrick and the old Duke and Mr. Sydney were standing at the wheel ready to turn, while Geoffrey and Featherstone mounted the cairn to arrange the rope. The Warder sat on the low wall with his back to the road and the prison.
As they stood on the cairn, Featherstone saw an old man on the road driving a donkey-cart. The harness had given way, and the old man was busy repairing it, standing behind the Warder. Something in the old man's attitude rather than appearance induced Featherstone to look at him again. His raised hand seemed to purposely arrest attention.
Featherstone looked too long and too sharply, for the Warder observed him, and turned to see what he looked at. The old man on the road saw the motion, and, instantly dropping his hand, went on with his mending, meanwhile addressing the donkey with reproving words.
The Warder looked for a moment, then turned his attention to the workers at the cairn.
"Heave on that handle, you, No. 5; don't let your mate do all the work. Come, now—heave!"
And the two decrepit old men "heaved," as he called turning the handle of the windlass, until their old joints cracked.
"That'll do; slack away!" and they rested panting, while the rope was fixed for another grip.
"Geoffrey," whispered Featherstone, with his head bent beside the stone, "look at that old fellow on the road. I am sure he made a signal to me, and stopped when he saw the Warder looking."
When Geoffrey had arranged the rope he looked toward the road, and almost shouted with joy and surprise to see faithful old Reynolds, with both hands raised in recognition and a wide smile on his honest face. Fortunately the Warder was at the moment encouraging the Duke and Sydney to "heave" on the wheel.
Geoffrey quickly recovered, and turned his attention to the rope.