The prisoner looked up quickly, and saw the shadow of a man’s head outside the grating. “Hello!” whispered Beigh, hurrying under the window. “Are you alone?” inquired the shadow. “Yes,” replied the prisoner. “All right, then,” whispered the voice. “There _are_ secrets which no vulgar ears should hear. My name is Guzzy. I have been in love with your wife. I hadn’t any idea she was married; but I’ve brought you my apology.” “I’ll forgive you,” whispered the criminal; “but——” “’Tain’t that kind of apology,” whispered Guzzy. “It’s a steel one—a tool—one of those things that gunsmiths shorten gun-barrels with. If they can saw a rifle-barrel in two in five minutes, you ought to get out of here inside of an hour.” “Not quite,” whispered Beigh. “My hands and feet are ironed.” “Then I’ll do the job myself,” whispered Guzzy, as he applied the tool to one of the bars; “for it will be daylight within two hours.” The unaccustomed labor—for Guzzy was a bookkeeper—made his arms ache severely, but still he sawed away. He wondered what his employer would say should he be found out, but still he sawed. Visions of the uplifted hands and horror-struck countenances of his brother Church-members came before his eyes, and the effect of his example upon his Sunday-school class, should he be discovered, tormented his soul; but neither of those influences affected his saw. Bar after bar disappeared, and when Guzzy finally stopped to rest, Beigh saw a small square of black sky, unobstructed by any bars whatever. “Now,” whispered Guzzy, “I’ll drop in a small box you can stand on, so you can put your hands out and let me file off your irons. I brought a file or two, thinking they might come handy.” Five minutes later the convict, his hands unbound, crawled through the window, and was helped to the ground by Guzzy. [Illustration] Seizing the file from the little bookkeeper, Beigh commenced freeing his feet. Suddenly he stopped and whispered: “You’d better go now. I can take care of myself, but if those cursed officers should take a notion to look around, it would go hard with _you_. Run, God bless you, run!” But little Guzzy straightened himself and folded his arms. The convict rasped away rapidly, and finally dropped the file and the fragments of the last fetter. Then he seized little Guzzy’s hand. “My friend,” said he, “criminal though I am, I am man enough to appreciate your manliness and honor. I think I am smart enough to keep myself free, now I am out of jail. But, if ever you want a friend, tell Helen, _she_ will know where I am, and I will serve you, no matter what the risk and pain.” “Thank you,” said Guzzy; “but the only favor I’ll ever ask of you might as well be named now, and you ought to be able to do it without risk or pain either. It’s only this: be an honest man, for Helen’s sake.” Beigh dropped his head.