"Now," he whispered, "both together--hard!" Bart gave himself a wrench as his companion tugged tremendously, and the resistance was overcome. "Half my skin," growled Bart, as he struggled to his feet and stood by his companion. "Now, lad, this way." "No, no; that's the way the soldiers have gone." "It's the only way, lad. The dogs are yonder, and we couldn't get over the palisade. Now!" They crept on in silence, seeing from time to time glints of the lantern, and in the midst of the still darkness matters seemed to be going so easily for them that Abel's heart grew more regular in its pulsation, and he was just asking himself why he had not had invention enough to contrive this evasion, when a clear and familiar voice cried, "Shtand!" and there was the click of a musket-lock. What followed was almost momentary. Bart struck aside the bayonet levelled at his breast, and leaped upon the sentry before him, driving him backward and clapping his hand upon his mouth as he knelt upon his chest; while, ably seconding him, his companion wrested the musket from the man's hand, twisted the bayonet from the end of the barrel, and, holding it daggerwise, pressed it against the man's throat. "Hold aside, Bart," whispered Abel, savagely. "No, no," growled Bart. "No blood, lad." "'Tis for our lives and liberty!" whispered Abel, fiercely. "Ay, but--" growled Bart. "Lie still, will you!" he muttered, as fiercely as his companion, for the sentry had given a violent heave and wrested his mouth free. "Sure, an' ye won't kill a poor boy that how, gintlemen," he whispered, piteously. "Another word, and it's your last!" hissed Abel. "Sure, and I'll be as silent as Pater Mulloney's grave, sor," whispered the sentry; "but it's a mother I have over in the owld country, and ye'd break her heart if ye killed me." "Hold your tongue!" whispered Bart. "Sure, and I will, sor. It's not meself as would stop a couple of gintlemen from escaping. There's the gate, gintlemen. Ye've got my mushket, and I can't stop you." "Yes, come along," whispered Bart. "What! and leave him to give the alarm?" said Abel. "We're wasting time, man. 'Tis his life or ours." "Not at all, sor," whispered the sentry, pleadingly. "I won't give the alarm, on my hanner; and you can't kill a boy widout letting him just say, `How d'ye do?' and `Which is the way yander?' to the praste." "Shall we trust him?" said Bart, in a low growl. "No!" "Then take me wid ye, gintlemen. Faix, ye might force me to go, for the divil a bit do I want to shtay here." "Look here," whispered Bart; "it's neck or nothing, my lad. If you give the alarm, it will be with that bayonet struck through you." "And would a Kelly give the alarm, afther he said on his hanner? Sure, you might thrust me." "Over with you, then, Bart," whispered Abel; "I'll stand over him here. Take the gun." Bart obeyed, and Abel stood with one hand upon the sentry's shoulder, and the bayonet close to his throat.