"Mr. Todhetley was Frank Radcliffe's trustee, and he is your father, young man; I do not stir a step in this matter without consulting him," returned old Brandon, coolly persistent. Well, there was nothing for it now but to go back home and consult the pater. It seemed like a regular damper--and we were hot and tired besides. Tod in his enthusiasm had pictured us storming the Torr at mid-day, armed with the necessary authority, and getting out Frank at once. Mr. Brandon ordered his waggonette--a conveyance he did not like, and scarcely ever used himself, leaving it to the servants for their errands--and we all drove back to Dyke Manor, himself included. To describe the astonishment of the pater when the disclosure was made to him would take a strong pen. He rubbed his face, and blustered, and stared around, and then told Tod he was a fool. "I know I am in some things," said Tod, as equably as old Brandon could have put it; "but I'm not in this. If Frank Radcliffe is not alive in that tower of Stephen's, and calling out nightly for his release, you may set me down as a fool to the end of my days, Father." "Goodness bless us all!" cried the poor bewildered Squire. "Do you believe this, Brandon?" Mr. Brandon did not say whether he believed it or not. Both of them shook their heads about granting a warrant: upon which, Tod passionately asked whether Francis Radcliffe was to be left in the tower to die. It was finally decided that we should go in a body that night to the field again, so as to give the two doubters the benefit of hearing anything there might be to hear. And Mr. Brandon stayed with us for the day, telling his coachman to come back at night with the small pony-gig to take him home. The moon was just as bright as on the previous night, and we started on our expedition stealthily. Tod and I went first; Duffham came strolling next; and the Squire and Mr. Brandon afterwards. Should Stephen Radcliffe or any of his people catch sight of the whole of us moving together, he might suspect there was something in the wind. Annet did not make her appearance, which was a great relief. For we could talk without restraint; and it would never have done to let her know what we suspected: and so raise wild hopes within her that might not be fulfilled. We knew later that her mother was at Pitchley's Farm that evening, and it kept Annet at home. Was Heaven interfering in Frank's behalf? It does interfere for the oppressed, you know; ay, more often than we heedless and ungrateful mortals think for. Never had the cries been so plain as they were this night, though there was no wind to waft them downwards, for the air was perfectly still: and the words were distinctly heard. "Help! Help! Frank Radcliffe." "Mercy upon us!" exclaimed the Squire, under his breath. "The voice does sound like Frank's." Mr. Brandon was standing with his hand to his ear. Duffham leaned on his gold-headed cane, his face lifted upwards.