“Five miles back! then we shall soon come up with them. Since you have told us this I’ll not force you to drive back to Oxford with your load, but my men shall take a couple of sacks before them on their saddles as toll.” Jock grumbled, and the prisoners shuddered, for now, indeed, they feared discovery was certain. But the carrier was equal to the emergency. He folded back a bit of the sailcloth and handed his whip and reins to the sergeant. “I’ll ask you to hold them, sir, for I need both my hands; if the wind once gets hold of this plaguey cloth, there’ll be the devil to pay.” With that he cautiously dragged out first one sack and then a second, tucking the cloth carefully round the remainder. As the cold wind blew upon the fugitives a violent shivering fit seized Gabriel; his teeth chattered, and it was all he could do to stifle the cough which threatened to choke him. Nothing but the strong instinct of self-preservation carried him through the agony of the struggle. But at length came the welcome sound of the departure of the soldiers, and Jock, with a cheery word to his horses, drove on. “That was a narrow escape,” muttered Humphrey, “but I shall not feel safe till the barge is under weigh.” Another hour brought them to their destination, and Jock drew up at the wharf, and told them he would seek out the bargee and get him to start with as little delay as possible. “You are worth your weight in gold, man,” said Humphrey, when the carrier returned with a couple of men to unload the cart. “Had it not been for your ready wit, we should now be on our way back to Oxford Castle.” “Eh, Master Humphrey, I’d gladly do more than that for your father’s son. But have a care of your friend, sir, for I think he be sore spent.” Glancing at Gabriel by the light of the carrier’s lantern on that dark winter morning, Humphrey saw that Jock was right. And all through the long, weary hours on the barge, only sheltered from the piercing wind by the sacks of corn and a load of wood which was already stacked up on board, he watched over his companion, feeling very doubtful whether he would survive to the end of the journey. It was quite late in the afternoon when the bargee set them down at Chiswick, and after much trouble Humphrey succeeded in getting his friend borne to Notting Hill. Gabriel was by this time quite indifferent to all that passed, and it was only when they actually reached the Manor that he roused himself to speak to the astonished butler who appeared in answer to Humphrey’s knock at the front door. “Is your mistress within? If so, tell her I have made my escape from Oxford and would fain speak with her,” he said. “Let me help you, sir,” said the man, shocked to note the change which the war had made in one he had seen a little more than a year ago in full health and vigour. “An’ you’ll rest in this room for a while I’ll go and prepare my mistress. Beg pardon, Mistress Helena, I did not know you were here.”