But to return to the cell of the mysterious young prisoner who read his Virgil so indefatigably.
He had not been asleep at all upon the occasion of William's unexpected visit. In fact, he had been working with a small file upon the iron bars. It had to be done very carefully indeed, by fits and starts, for a long-continued exertion might at any time bring upon him the attention of the guard.
He had not recognized his brother in the dim light, and only thought him one of the inspecting officers, although he had shivered when the jailer spoke in such an off-hand manner of his being accused of theft.
In the mean time he had read his cipher note.
It told him that on a certain night, if it were possible for him to file his bars in two, a boat with two rowers would be waiting beneath a wharf of the North River. If everything worked smoothly on both sides, signals would be exchanged.
The note was signed by Number Two. George knew this to be friend Anderson. It stated that Number Three was unfortunately ill, and George knew that Number Three was Abel Norton.
He had destroyed the epistle, and recommenced the tedious work of filing away the bars.
Despite Mr. Anderson's warning, William could hardly restrain a desire to visit the sugar-house and have a long talk with his brother, but he saw that the consequences might be most disastrous. However, there was one thing he could do—help George's material comfort; he would claim this privilege at least.
Meeting Mr. Anderson one day, he asked him if George needed anything that he could procure. To his surprise, the little schoolmaster refused to discuss the question, and William took the hint that he was not supposed to know that his brother was in New York at all. So, pained and chagrined, he dropped the subject; he could not insist, as he had left the matter in Mr. Anderson's hands.