As he thus sat his ears caught the sound of footsteps moving along the passage outside. The lock in the heavy door moved, it opened, and a bright light which dazzled his eyes burst in. "They are come," he thought, "to carry me off." "I am ready," he said, starting up, expecting to see the gaoler and the guard of soldiers. Instead, as his eyes recovered their vision, he saw standing before him his ever faithful guardian Roger Kyffin. He sprang forward, then stopped for a moment and hung down his head. "You cannot come to own a wretched convict like me," he exclaimed, in a tone of sadness. "Do not say that, Harry," answered Mr. Kyffin, stepping forward and taking his hands. "Not a moment's rest or happiness have I enjoyed since I learned the dangerous position in which you were placed. Do not doubt the regard I must ever have for you. I have discovered how you have been deceived, and how you were induced to desert your truest friend; I have therefore every excuse for you. I have learned that even in this instance you are guiltless of disloyalty, and, believe me, Harry, however guilty you have been, I should still have looked upon you as a son." "You make me desire once more to live," exclaimed Harry, for the first time perhaps in his life bursting into tears. "I thought no one cared for me. I was prepared to die unknown and unlamented; and oh! tell me, Mr. Kyffin, does Mabel know of my condition?--has she discarded me?" His voice trembled. He looked eagerly in his guardian's face for a reply. "No, Harry, indeed she has not discarded you. She is true-hearted." "Is there any hope for me--must I suffer as so many unhappy men have done?" gasped out Harry. "There is hope, my boy. I cannot say for a certainty that you will be saved. Mabel herself obtained from the King a request to his ministers that your life should be spared, and I have seen the governor of the prison, and he believes it confers sufficient authority on him not to deliver you up till his Majesty's pleasure shall be further known." Mr. Kyffin then explained to Harry more clearly the particulars of which the reader is already aware. Harry Tryon sank down on his knees, and thanked Heaven from the depth of his heart for the prospect of a release from the ignominious death for which he had been prepared. Alas! he had not often truly prayed. His grandmother had not attempted to teach him even a form of prayer, and seldom, during the life he spent in London had he ever dared to kneel to ask a blessing of his Heavenly Father. He had now, however, learned an important lesson. He had felt his utter helplessness and weakness, and had discovered that when lifting up his heart to God he received a strength and courage which he could by no other means have obtained. "And Mabel! bless her for what she has done for me! But oh! Mr. Kyffin, tell me where is she, how is she?"