"Never mind your soul; are your limbs sound? Come out, and let me look at you." A palpitating mass crawled from beneath the vehicle. Dirty, chap-fallen, and dishevelled, but unhurt, the landlord stood in trembling and pitiful cowardice. "Where are you hurt? Come, I’ve no time to waste. Why," he added, as he turned the man round and examined him, "you haven’t a scratch. You’re a pretty consort of ruffians! Get away into the keep and make yourself useful, or——" The man scrambled away in limp despair, and Harry smiled grimly as he went about his pressing task. He knew that he was safe for a time. The two hundred men outside were completely cut off from their quarters. "If they want their castle they must come and take it," thought Harry. They could only enter by one of three ways: the main entrance, if they repaired the bridge—but that could be prevented by marksmen within; the tunnel—but that could be blocked up; the tower by which he himself had escaped—but one or two men there could easily prohibit access by the slope and postern. Harry set a sentinel at each point, and then made a rapid survey of the position. He found that the castle contained, besides a huge quantity of plunder, a plentiful stock of provisions, arms, and ammunition. There were indeed many bags of powder ranged carelessly around the walls of the courtyard, and these Harry had removed to a more secure place in one of the towers, and covered with sacking. He then went up on the battlements to see what the enemy were about. They had withdrawn to a knoll at some distance and dismounted, and an exciting discussion appeared to be going on among their leaders. Harry called to Max to remain on the look-out and report any fresh movement among them; then he prepared to visit the dungeons. The prisoners had been secured in the hall of the keep. "Which of you acts as warder?" asked Harry, entering the hall. "Zooks! if it an’t young Mr. Rochester!" said an amazed voice in English. "I be the warder, Mr. Rochester." "You, John Simmons! Now, answer me quickly: are there any prisoners below?" "There be two, sir, certainly, and I was against it—that’s the truth, sir; I was against it, but the capt’n he would cool their courage, he said, and what could I do, sir?—though it did cut me to the heart to serve Mr. Fanshawe so——" "Hold your tongue, knave! Take me to the place at once." "I was against it," muttered the man, as he led the way out of the hall, through the stone passage, into a room near the spot at which Harry had ascended from the tunnel. Here he lifted a slab in the floor, and let down a rope ladder, coiled beneath it, into a pit of blackness. "They are there?" exclaimed Harry in horror, as he peered down, and found himself unable to discern anything. "I was against it," murmured Simmons again. "The inhuman fiends!" cried Harry. "Fanshawe, are you there?" he called into the mouth of the dungeon, his voice echoing strangely from the hollow.