Peter Veriquear still stood upright within the bars of the grate, ready to ascend again in case his disaster had rendered such a step advisable; but as his feet had stirred up the ashes in the grate, Colin was glad to observe a few live coals yet glimmering at the bottom. These he contrived to blow into sufficient heat to light a piece of dry half-burnt stick that lay on the hearth; and in the next moment the room in which they stood was distinctly illuminated throughout. The first step was to light a candle that stood on the table, and the next to see to the state and security of old Jerry. Peter Veriquear now descended from his situation, considerably shaken by his fall, though otherwise unhurt. The only complaint he made being that it was the builder's business to have constructed the chimney-top more solidly, and then it would never have been any concern of his to have tumbled down it. On proceeding to the bed Colin found old Jerry lying all of a heap, his white hair covered with blood from a wound on the top, and himself apparently senseless. There was no time to be lost. He therefore left his friend Roger and Mr. Veriquear to assist the old man, at the same time instructing them very carefully to secure him if he should attempt to escape from them; while he himself went in search of the cavern, or whatever else it might be, where Mr. Woodruff was confined. As the best guide to this, he demanded in a loud voice, “Mr. Woodruff!--where are you?--where are you?” There was no reply. Again he repeated those words, but in a state of feeling which left him almost unconscious of all he said or did. “Here--here I am!” at length was answered in a melancholy tone, from an inner place far backhand apparently beyond a door of very small dimensions, securely fastened into the rock, and bound with heavy iron. Colin flew to the spot whence the sound proceeded. The door was as fast as the rock it was built in. He madly strove to burst it, but with as little effect as the rain might beat against a precipice of adamant. Almost in a frenzy of excitement he rushed back, and scarcely knowing what he did, searched the cottage for the key. At last he found it under Jerry's pillow. Colin rapidly hastened again to the door,--he inserted the key,--he turned it. A damp sweat stood upon his brow, and his eyeballs seemed almost to blaze, but their sight was nearly gone. He seized the handle, dashed the door open, and beheld James Woodruff standing with his hands chained together before him. “You are free!” cried Colin, almost hysterically,--“free!--free!” He could but repeat that word; to him there was then no other in the language--“You are free!” Poor James looked at him doubtfully,--madly, I might say,--and replied, “Do not play with me, whoever you are. It is cruel to trifle with sorrow like mine.” “You are free!” again cried Colin. “Come forth!--you are free!”