Utterly incapable any longer to bear his own sensations, the traveller rose at last, fixed his eyes upon the fatal door, and was about to cry aloud to the listener to enter, when he heard a slight tap at the window; it was twice repeated; and at the third time a low voice pronounced the name of Darvil. It was clear, then, that accomplices had arrived; it was no longer against one man that he would have to contend. He drew his breath hard, and listened with throbbing ears. He heard steps without upon the plashing soil; they retired--all was still. He paused a few minutes, and walked deliberately and firmly to the inner door, at which he fancied his host stationed; with a steady hand he attempted to open the door; it was fastened on the opposite side. "So!" said he, bitterly, and grinding his teeth, "I must die like a rat in a cage. Well, I'll die biting." He returned to his former post, drew himself up to his full height, and stood grasping his homely weapon, prepared for the worst, and not altogether unelated with a proud consciousness of his own natural advantages of activity, stature, strength and daring. Minutes rolled on; the silence was broken by some one at the inner door; he heard the bolt gently withdrawn. He raised his weapon with both hands; and started to find the intruder was only Alice. She came in with bare feet, and pale as marble, her finger on her lips. She approached--she touched him. "They are in the shed behind," she whispered, "looking for the sledge-hammer--they mean to murder you; get you gone--quick." "How?--the door is locked." "Stay. I have taken the key from his room." She gained the door, applied the key--the door yielded. The traveller threw his knapsack once more over his shoulder, and made but one stride to the threshold. The girl stopped him. "Don't say anything about it; he is my father, they would hang him." "No, no. But you?--are safe, I trust?--depend on my gratitude.--I shall be at ------ to-morrow--the best inn--seek me if you can. Which way now?" "Keep to the left." The stranger was already several paces distant; through the darkness, and in the midst of the rain, he fled on with the speed of youth. The girl lingered an instant, sighed, then laughed aloud; closed and re-barred the door, and was creeping back, when from the inner entrance advanced the grim father, and another man, of broad, short, sinewy frame, his arms bare, and wielding a large hammer. "How?" asked the host; "Alice here, and--hell and the devil! have you let him go?" "I told you that you should not harm him." With a violent oath the ruffian struck his daughter to the ground, sprang over her body, unbarred the door, and, accompanied by his comrade, set off in vague pursuit of his intended victim. CHAPTER III. "You knew--none so well, of my daughter's flight." /Merchant of Venice/, Act iii. Sc. 1.