But the sweet oblivion was cruelly brief. "Wait," the Bishop whispered, "are we alone?" And with that the once stately man of God crept on tiptoe like a cat to the door of the cell, and put his head to it and listened.
"Art thou there, Paton Gorry?" he asked, feebly simulating his accustomed tone of quiet authority.
Old Gorry answered from the other side of the door that he was there, that he was sitting on the steps, that he was not sleeping, but waiting my lord's return.
The Bishop crept back to Dan's side, with the same cat-like step as before. "You are safe, my son," he whispered in his low eager tone. "You shall leave this place. It is my prison, and you shall go free."
Dan had watched his father's movements with a sickening sense.
"Then you do not know that I surrendered?" he said, faintly.
"Yes, yes, oh, yes, I know it. But that was when your arrest was certain. But now—listen."
Dan felt as if his father had struck him across the face. "That was what the Deemster said," he began; "but it is wrong."
"Listen—they have nothing against you. I know all. They can not convict you save on your own confession. And why should you confess?"
"Why?"