Once indeed there was a strange sound coming across that of the knell. It almost sounded like an acclamation of joy. Could people be so cruel, thought Stephen, as to mock poor Giles’s agonies? There were the knells still sounding. How long he did not know, for a beneficent drowsiness stole over him as he knelt, and he was only awakened, at the same time as Jasper, by the opening of his door. He looked up to see three figures—his brother, his uncle, his master. Were they come to take leave of him? But the one conviction that their faces beamed with joy was all that he could gather, for little Jasper sprang up with a scream of terror, “Stephen, Stephen, save me! They will cut out my heart,” and clung trembling to his breast, with arms round his neck. “Poor child! poor child!” sighed Master Headley. “Would that I brought him the same tidings as to thee!” “Is it so?” asked Stephen, reading confirmation as he looked from the one to the other. Though he was unable to rise under the weight of the boy, life and light were coming to his eye, while Ambrose clasped his hand tightly, chocked by the swelling of his heart in almost an agony of joy and thankfulness. “Yea, my good lad,” said the alderman. “Thy good kinsman took my little wench to bear to the King the token he gave thee.” “And Giles?” Stephen asked, “and the rest?” “Giles is safe. For the rest—may God have mercy on their souls.” These words passed while Stephen rocked Jasper backwards and forwards, his face hidden on his neck. “Come home,” added Master Headley. “My little Dennet and Giles cannot yet rejoice till thou art with them. Giles would have come himself, but he is sorely shaken, and could scarce stand.” Jasper caught the words, and loosing his friend’s neck, looked up. “Oh! are we going home? Come, Stephen. Where’s brother Simon? I want my good sister! I want nurse! Oh! take me home!” For as he tried to sit up, he fell back sick and dizzy on the bed. “Alack! alack!” mourned Master Headley; and the jester, muttering that it was not the little wench’s fault, turned to the window, and burst into tears. Stephen understood it all, and though he felt a passionate longing for freedom, he considered in one moment whether there were any one of his fellow prisoners to whom Jasper could be left, or who would be of the least comfort to him, but could find no one, and resolved to cling to him as once to old Spring. “Sir,” he said, as he rose to his master, “I fear me he is very sick. Will they—will your worship give me licence to bide with him till this ends?”