He was roused from his slumbers by a stone which fell upon the floor of the vault not far from where he was lying, and as he stirred he heard a voice calling to him from the barred window, and looking in that direction, he could just distinguish the figure of a man. “Who speaks?” he demanded rising to his feet. “A friend,” replied the other. “Come nearer—quick!” “The voice seems familiar to me,” observed Carver, “and if I did not deem it impossible, I should say it was——” “It is he you suppose,” interrupted the speaker. “Come as near me as you can, and come quickly, for I may be discovered.” Thus adjured, Carver mounted the bench, and was then only separated by the bars from the person outside, whom he now recognised as Osbert Clinton. “Why have you incurred this danger on my account, oh, rash young man?” he cried. “I have somewhat to impart,” replied Osbert; “but I must be brief, for though the man on guard has quitted his post, he may return. In a word, then, I shall make an attempt to deliver you from these bloodthirsty tigers to-morrow. I have half a dozen friends with me, and when you are brought forth for execution, we will fall upon the guard and set you free.” “I forbid you to make the attempt, my son,” replied Carver. “I am fully prepared to die, and would not accept a pardon from my enemies were it offered me. By freeing me as you propose, you would wrest from me the crown of martyrdom which I hope to win at yonder stake. My race is almost run, and the goal is at hand. I have done with the world, and would not be brought back to it. My last sufferings will be sharp, but they will be speedily over, and I rejoice that I am able to bear them. Again, I say, this attempt must not be made.” “Since you will have it so, I must needs obey,” rejoined Osbert, in a mournful tone. “And yet I would try to move you.” “It would be in vain,” said Carver. “Our moments are precious. Let them not be wasted in idle discussion. I will not fly from the death prepared for me. The stake is ready, and shall not want the victim. I know you will readily do me a service. Seek out my poor wife and children at Brightelmstone, and bid them farewell for me.” “I have already seen them,” replied Osbert. “Your wife is ill—too ill to leave the house—and I enjoined her not to come here to-morrow.” “You did right—quite right,” rejoined Carver. “What of my aged mother?” he demanded, in a voice of profound emotion. “I ought to have no concealment from you now,” said Osbert. “Your mother is no more.” “I thought so,” replied Carver, after a pause. “She appeared to me just now during my slumber. Her countenance wore a heavenly smile, and methought her lips opened to address me, but I could not catch the words she uttered. Her spirit was still hovering nigh me when you woke me from the blissful dream.”