The thunder was louder and nearer now. The wind was rising and shook the bars of his window as they had never been shaken before; then died away towards the sea, but the shaking of the bars continued and a gleam like a lighted match flashed through them and disappeared, followed by another and another, and he could see the outline of four hands, two large and two small, tugging at the iron rods. Some one was there trying to get in and Paul felt a momentary fear as he listened to the grating sound and heard the lime and mortar give way. Again there was a flash of light. One bar was gone, and the big hands were wrenching another from its place. “Who is there?” Paul asked. The answer was in a whisper. “Tom,—come to set you free.” The shock was so sudden, the joy so great, that without a thought of anything but the word _free_. Paul’s head fell forward upon his chest, and he knew no more until the cool night air and drops of rain were falling upon his face. Some one was holding his head, and a hand, which could not be Tom’s, was brushing back his hair, and it seemed to him, wiping away a drop of blood trickling from a place which smarted on his forehead. He knew he must he out of his cell, and had an indistinct remembrance of having been lifted and pushed and pulled in a most extraordinary way until his arms felt as if they were dislocated. “Where am I?” he asked, rising to a sitting posture and trying to pierce the thick darkness and see who were with him. “Whisper, or you’ll have Stevens here. I shouldn’t wonder if he was putting on his trousers now,—the racket we’ve made. You are out of prison. Free!” “But,” Paul said, beginning to understand, “isn’t it better to stay and face it? People will certainly think me guilty if I run away. You meant it right, Tom, and I thank you, but I must go back.” “No, you don’t,” Tom replied. “I nearly broke my neck getting you out, and I am going to keep you. Then, you see, you didn’t run away. You were _abducted_, against your will, and if they find you, I’ll say so. I’ll take the brunt. I’ve sworn it. “I’m glad you fainted,” Tom continued, “or you might have resisted. I found you all huddled down in your chair, just ready to tumble on the floor. A streak of lightning showed me where you were, and I tell you I had a tussle to get you up to the window and then to get you through, your legs were so almighty long. You did scrape your forehead some on a sharp point of iron. I could never have managed you without help.” “Help!” Paul repeated. “I remember now. Some one was holding my head when I came to my senses. Who was it?” Reaching out his arm, he felt Elithe’s dress and drew her towards him. “Who is it?” he asked, in an eager voice. “Is it,—is it,—_Clarice_? “Clarice be ——,” Tom began; then checked himself and said: “It’s Miss Elithe, and she worked like a nailer, too, and scratched her hand on that same jagged iron which rubbed your head. She’s a brick!”