When they recognized each other there was a moment of silence. But it was only a moment, and that moment was too precious to be lost. In a flood of tears the girl told him what had happened.
Gubblum understood no more than that villainy had been at work. Mercy saw nothing but that she had been deceived and had been herself the instrument of deception. This was enough.
"The raggabrash! I'd like to rozzle their backs with an ash stick," said Gubblum.
"Oh, where have they taken him—where, where?" cried Mercy, wringing her hands.
"Don't put on wi' thee—I know," said Gubblum. "I questit them up the stairs. Come along wi' me, lass, and don't slobber and yowl like a barn."
Gubblum whipped up his candle, and hurried along the passage and up the ladder like a monkey, Mercy following at his heels.
"Belike they've locked this door forby," he said.
But no, the key was in the lock. Gubblum turned it and pushed it open. Then he peered into the garret, holding the candle above his head. When the light penetrated the darkness, they saw a man's figure outstretched on a mattress that lay on the bare floor of the empty room. They ran up to it, and raised the head.
"It's his fadder's son, I'll uphod thee," said Gubblum. "And yon riff-raff, his spitten picter, is no'but some wastrel merry-begot."
Mercy was down on her knees beside the insensible man, chafing his hands. There was a tremulous movement of the eyelids.