Luck in life has always used me better than my deserts. At an hour’s end there I was, hacking away steadily, yet had made but little progress. And then, pressing the knife deep, I broke the blade off short. The door upon the far side was cas’d with iron. _Tramp—tramp!_ ’Twas the sound of man’s footfall, and to the ear appear’d to be descending a flight of steps on the other side of the door. I bent my ear to the keyhole: then stepp’d to a cask of bullets that stood handy by. I took out a dozen, felt in my pocket for Delia’s kerchief that she had given me, caught up a pike from the pile stack’d in the corner, and softly blowing out my light, stood back to be conceal’d by the door, when it open’d. The footsteps still descended. I heard an aged voice muttering— “Shrivel my bones—ugh!—ugh! Wintry work—wintry work! Here’s an hour to send a grandfatherly man a-groping for a keg o’ powder!” A wheezy cough clos’d the sentence, as a key was with difficulty fitted in the lock. “Ugh—ugh! Sure, the lock an’ I be a pair, for stiff joints.” The door creak’d back against me, and a shaft of light pierc’d the darkness. Within the threshold, with his back to me, stood a grey-bearded servant, and totter’d so that the lantern shook in his hand. It sham’d me to lift a pike against one so weak. Instead, I dropp’d it with a clatter, and leap’d forward. The old fellow jumped like a boy, turn’d, and fac’d me with dropp’d jaw, which gave me an opportunity to thrust four or five bullets, not over roughly, into his mouth. Then, having turn’d him on his back, I strapp’d Delia’s kerchief tight across his mouth, and took the lantern from his hand. Not a word was said. Sure, the poor old man’s wits were shaken, for he lay meek as a mouse, and star’d up at me, while I unstrapp’d his belt and bound his feet with it. His hands I truss’d up behind him with his own neckcloth; and catching up the lantern, left him there. I lock’d the door after me, and slip’d the key into my pocket as I sprang up the stairs beyond. But here a light was shining, so once more I extinguish’d my lantern. The steps ended in a long passage, with a handsome lamp hanging at the uttermost end, and beneath this lamp I stepp’d into a place that fill’d me with astonishment. ’Twas, I could not doubt, the entrance hall of the governor’s house. An oak door, very massive, fronted me; to left and right were two smaller doors, that plainly led into apartments of the house. Also to my left, and nigher than the door on that side, ran up a broad staircase, carpeted and brightly lit all the way, so that a very blaze fell on me as I stood. Under the first flight, close to my left shoulder, was a line of pegs with many cloaks and hats depending therefrom. Underfoot, I remember, the hall was richly tiled in squares of red and white marble.