“To tell the truth to you, however mortifying it may be to me, I am ashamed of myself, and acknowledge that the way in which I acted was reprehensible in the extreme. No man ever gained any thing by getting into a passion, especially with a woman. Having made this apology, I can return to the calm and dispassionate discussion of the subject before us.”
The captain spoke in an easy, self-assured manner. Kate was herself again, and she answered in a tone calm but clear and stern: “Mr. Preston, there is nothing to be discussed between us. You have done that which removes you forever beyond the pale of common honesty, a deed most foul; I am to some extent, in your power. You may keep me imprisoned here, but more than that you can never, dare never, attempt. I have friends who will find me though they have not the slightest clue to guide their search; and they will, as sure as there is a Heaven above us, avenge to the last, any wrong done to me while I am in your power.”
“That you have friends, for the sake of argument, we’ll admit; but, if you include your brother in the number, I am afraid you will never see him again. He was captured in Charleston last night, is at present in prison, and will be hung to-morrow as a spy.”
“Then may God preserve him and me!” answered Catherine, and she sank fainting on the bed beside her. Captain Preston, springing to raise her, was arrested by a voice exclaiming: “And He will!”
Turning, he saw standing in the door, which, through inadvertence, he had neglected to lock, the stalwart frame of Nathaniel Ernshaw. “Who are you, who dares to intrude here?” was on his lips, but not uttered; for, as he placed his hand to his sword-hilt, Ernshaw sprang forward and planted his fist straight between the eyes of Reginald. The captain fell senseless to the floor. Ernshaw gently raised the senseless form of Kate, and called her name. His voice recalled her wandering senses. Opening her eyes, she murmured, “Thank God! I am saved! Saved! make haste away!”
Passing quickly out, and crossing a small hall, Nat and his fair charge entered another room—the one whose window looked out upon the little porch and the sycamore-tree. The shutters of this room were the only ones about the house which were to be opened. The old negress, who brought to Catherine her meals, occupied this apartment, and obstinately persisted in retaining the privilege of sunshine and fresh air. Through this window, Nat had entered, and finding that the old woman was awake and about making an outcry, he had bound and gagged her.
Letting Kate down from the window by means of a quilt which he had snatched from the bed, Ernshaw swung himself down by the branches of the tree. Standing once more on the solid ground he gave a low whistle, which was answered by another from the garden, and young Hunt appeared, leading a horse; a moment more found the young man in the saddle, with Kate in front of him. “Is it time?” he inquired of the boy. “Almost,” was the answer.
“Then here goes for liberty!” half shouted Ernshaw, as he touched the horse lightly with a spur. In a moment he was lost in the blackness of the night.
Acting in obedience to the injunction of the blacksmith, John did not attempt to loosen his irons until the jailer had made his final round. Then, though working without a light, half an hour enabled him, with the aid of the sharp-biting file, to throw off the fetters. With a sigh of relief he laid them quietly upon the floor, and stretched his limbs well wearied with the load which they had endured. He next examined the bars that guarded the window by which escape was to be made. The aperture was full large enough to admit of the egress of a man twice as large as Vale were the iron bars once removed; and of these bars there were three.
The saw which John had in his possession, was made from a portion of a watch-spring, and a trial of it convinced him that with a little time he could easily cut through the bars even without the promised assistance of Hunt. The bars were so placed, that if but two of them could be removed, the other would hardly give much trouble; and to the task of removing these two did Vale most assiduously bend himself. By an hour after midnight one of the bars was taken out. By the hour of three, the second bar was more than half sawn in two. As the hours wore on, Vale would occasionally pause in his work and listen for some signal from his expected friend. The faint, bell-like notes of a distant clock chiming the expected hour, finally reached him, sounding solemn and still through the noiseless night-air. The steady movement of the saw ceased for a season, but no sound was heard, and again the nervous arm of the young man continued its task. A faint sound as of something scratching the wall was the signal for work to be discontinued; then, the cheery voice of Simon whispered: “Are you there, John?”