"’Tis indeed a mercy," said the Vicar. "I sympathise with you with all my heart, Sir Bevil." "The scoundrel!" cried the baronet. "Trevanion, I beg your pardon. I have listened to that villain, and had hard thoughts of you. Good heavens! he was to have married my daughter." "Poor girl!" said the Squire. "I knew my cousin, Sir Bevil. I should have warned you, only——" "Only I was a fool, Trevanion. Your warning would have fallen on deaf ears; my mind was poisoned against you. Forgive me." The two men shook hands, and soon afterwards left the inn with Mr. Carlyon, the riding-officer remaining behind. "Doubledick," he said, when alone with the inn-keeper, "you had better get away. I’ve got Jake Tonkin locked up in my house—caught him spying on you the other night. I can’t keep him much longer, and as soon as he is free your life won’t be worth a snap, if I know his father." The innkeeper shivered. "For mercy sake, sir, hold him until to-morrer mornin’! I’ll go away this very night. Hold him, sir, and I’ll tell ’ee wheer Zacky do mean to run the cargo." "A traitor to the last!" cried Mr. Polwhele. "’Tis my duty to the King to listen to you. Well?" "’Tis at Lunnan Cove, sir, an hour after sun-down." "Ha! That fellow who ran along the reef is making the arrangements, no doubt. Well, I’ll hold the boy till daylight to-morrow, but not an instant longer. ’Tis illegal, and they may _habeas corpus_ me. So take my warning. What about your wife?" "She must bide here a little until I hev found a home for her. Zacky won’t hurt a woman. ’Tis a terrible thing to leave the place I’ve dwelt in for thirty year." "You’ve only yourself to blame. I wish you no harm, but take my advice: live straight for the rest of your days. I shan’t see you again." He left the inn, and rode up the hill to look for the arrival of the cutter. The Dower House was still blazing, watched by an immense crowd of villagers, dragoons, yeomanry, and folk from the neighbouring farms, who had flocked in when they saw the glare. There was at present no sign of the cutter, and Mr. Polwhele, tired out by his night’s vigil, rode back to his own house, to hoist on his flagstaff a signal to Mr. Mildmay, and then to have a meal and rest. Unlocking the door of the room in which Jake Tonkin had been confined, he was amazed and alarmed to see that it was no longer occupied. One of the iron bars across the window had been wrenched away after patient work in loosening the sockets, and the prisoner had dropped sixteen feet to the ground. Mr. Polwhele called up his housekeeper, whom he had forbidden to disclose Jake’s whereabouts on pain of dismissal. "You knew nothing of this, Mary?" he asked. "No, indeed, sir. I neither heard un nor seed un." "Well, say nothing about it. I want you to take a note for me at once to Doubledick at the inn. Put on your bonnet." By the time the woman was ready, Mr. Polwhele had scribbled a brief note. "J. has escaped: don’t wait."