“But how will you be able to travel alone?” he asked.
“I do not intend to travel alone, if I can help it,” I answered. “I believe that Antonio will succeed in liberating Uncle Richard, and that I shall be able to help him to make good his escape.”
I was unwilling to leave the house without wishing Don José and his family farewell; and as I was thinking how I could best manage to do so, I discovered a slip of paper pinned on to the front of the jacket, on which was written in a feigned hand,—“I know your feelings, and what you would desire to say; but it is safer that we should not again meet. Farewell. Destroy this when you have read it.”
The paper was not signed, but I guessed it came from Don José.
Domingo having now reappeared, and announced that the horses were ready, we descended to the courtyard. “It will be safer for me to slip out first,” I observed.
To this Mr Laffan agreed.
“You had better take Lion with you,” I said; and I ordered my faithful dog to remain with Mr Laffan. But on this occasion the usually obedient animal was disobedient. When I had made my way out of the yard I found him following me, and I had not the heart to send him back.
I resolved at all risks to join Uncle Richard, should he be able to make his way out of prison; so towards that gloomy building I at once directed my steps. As the town was in total darkness, there being no lamps in the streets, I ran little chance of being detected, while Lion could not be seen a few paces off. In a short time I reached the spot where I had had the conversation with Antonio; and there, crouching down, I awaited the hour he had named. There was but one clock in the city which struck the hours. The time appeared to go very slowly by. Perfect silence reigned through the streets. Neither Royalist nor Republican were at that time inclined to move about in the dark, as assassins too frequently plied their deadly trade, and several persons of both parties had been murdered.
At last ten o’clock struck. I sat with my hand on Lion’s head, listening attentively. The prison door opened; the sentinel challenged, “Quien vive?” and the countersign was returned. Then the door closed, and I heard the sound of footsteps approaching, but they did not seem those of persons attempting flight. My hopes sank. After all, some officer might have visited the prison, and was now leaving it with a guard. I was afraid, consequently, to move; but in another instant Lion rose to his feet, and, though he uttered no sound, bounded forward towards one of the persons approaching.
“That must be Uncle Richard,” I thought. “The dog knows him.”