"There is no necessity of going now," said William.
"So I see, my dear boy. You never liked me when we worked together in Sir Wyeth's office. What a proud young limb you were, and as solitary as an owl! But this is no time for reminiscing. Is the boat prepared?"
"That's just the question," put in William, at a venture. "Everything has worked well, but that I do not know."
"It must be arranged then at once to-night. I will see to it myself," said his mysterious acquaintance. "I know the ferrymen and where to reach them. Shall I do it?"
"You had better," was the answer. "And let me know where I can find them."
"At Striker's wharf, then, at eleven o'clock to-night. It will be pitch-dark and a rough passage. Where are you bound to now?"
"To a safe hiding-place," answered William.
"Take care—take care—don't be too bold," said the other, cautiously. "Well, if you will, may good-luck wait on you. To-night, then, at eleven."
Abel Norton did not know what loyal British hands grasped his, but the pressure was firm and hearty, for William's heart went out to this friend of his brother's.
"Schoolmaster Anderson has frustrated the attempt at escape, of course," he thought to himself, "and the boat-men will wait in vain. I could not find it in my heart to tell the old fellow who I was. He might have died from sheer astonishment." But it seemed quite natural to be taken for George again. The resemblance was not lost.