The town-clock struck once. "Half-fower," whispered Hector. "For God's sake let us hurry." Quickly I coiled the rope up into a hank. Hector seized me by the arm and half dragged me across the street to a close mouth. When I tried to thank him he stopped me.
"There's nae need o' that. Awa' wi' ye to Lincluden. Haste ye! Below the big window ye'll fin' a flicht o' steps. The second moves when ye step on it: but never mind--that's naething. The fifth seems firm: but it's no'. I'm the only man that kens that. Shove hard at the left-hand bottom corner--and crawl in when it swings roun', and stop there till I come for ye. Mary's a' richt and in safe hands. Dinna fash yersel' aboot her; but gi'e me the rope. I lifted it off the Provost's drying-green, and though I may be a liar, I'm no' a thief yet and I maun put it back. Awa' wi' ye like a hare."
I needed no second bidding. Hurrying along under the shadow of the houses, I soon found myself in a little lane which ran down to the edge of the water. I made for the Staked Ford, crossed the river hot-foot there, and hot-foot raced on my way. Dawn had not yet begun to break when I reached the Abbey. Once within the shelter of its walls I had no difficulty in finding the steps of which Hector had told me. The second moved as I trod upon it, but I remembered his caution and hastened to the bottom. Then I turned, and kneeling on the last step I pushed hard against the fifth as he had bidden me, and it swung round. I crawled into the cavity beneath it and, turning, drew the step into place again. Then on my hands and knees, for there was not sufficient room to do more, I crawled on until I found myself in a spacious passage.
CHAPTER XLIII
BY THE TOWER OF LINCLUDEN
Under my feet was dry crisp sand, and knowing that I was in perfect safety I lay down at full length. I could sleep here undisturbed. Mary was in good hands: I had Hector's word for that, and ere long I knew that I should see her again and be able to claim her for my very own. When I was able to tear my thoughts away from the enchanted dreams of our reunion, I fell upon sullen doubt. We should be in daily peril so long as we continued to remain in Scotland. There was nothing for it but to escape from this tortured land. But how? I knew the ports were watched, and I had heard how the roads that led to the border were patrolled by the dragoons. Mary's escape and mine would spur the persecutors to measures more stern. At whatever risk, we must attempt to get to England. There lay safety. And then I thought of Hector. Hector, the resourceful, the indomitable, would find a way; and with this thought in my mind, I settled down to sleep.
How long I slept I cannot tell, but when I awoke and felt the sand beneath me and, reaching out, touched upon either hand rough walls of stone, I thought for a moment that I had been buried alive. Then I remembered where I was.
I crawled along the passage until I was beneath the steps. A faint little feather of light came through the chinks between them and from its tenuousness I judged that it was night. I must have slept all through the day. Cautiously I swung round the step and crawled out until I stood within the precincts of the Abbey beneath the Gothic window.
The sky was studded with stars. I judged that I might with safety go further afield to stretch my limbs, so I stole out of the Abbey and walked across the level lawn until I came to the edge of the river. It moved silently through the darkness, so slowly as to seem asleep, and I thought of my own quiet Avon. I walked along the bank to the point where the Cluden steals silently into the bosom of the shining Nith, to flow on with it, one and indivisible, to the sea.
I followed the course of the stream downward until the black, still surface of the College pool lay at my feet. As I stood there I listened to the faint murmur of the river as it flowed at the foot of the banks beneath. There was love in its language, and I, whose heart was aglow with love, could hear and understand. The Nith was whispering to the Cluden, adrowse in its arms, such little tender messages as soon I should be whispering to my beloved. I drifted away upon the soft wings of reverie to a land of dreams, but I was brought back suddenly by hearing afar off the sound of the town clock. I counted its strokes. It was midnight. Midnight! and there was no sign of Hector; nor had I yet seen Mary! What could have happened to them? Had disaster befallen them, and were all the high hopes which I had formed doomed yet to be brought to the ground? I dared not think so, and, to rid myself of my fears, I threw off my clothing and with a running leap plunged head foremost into the College Pool. The coldness of the water stung me like a lash, but there was refreshment in it, and with hope once more on tip-toe, I yielded myself to the enjoyment of the moment, and swam until the stiffness left my limbs. Then I made for the bank again, and when I had dressed sought my hiding-place. Sometime ere dawn, I imagined, Hector would come to me, with news of Mary. With this hope in my mind I sat in my gloomy vault waiting patiently. Hour after hour went by, and still he did not come, and at last sleep overcame me and I sank into dreamland again. When love sits on the throne of a man's heart, dreamland is his empire, and on winged feet I wandered with Mary at my side, through the meads, flower-dappled, of that bewitching land. Then I woke again, and realised that it was a dream and that nothing surrounded me but darkness.