“There speaks your callow inexperience,” said he, with a pitying smile. “When you shall have lived as long as I have done, and endured as much; when you shall have set your wits to the saving of your life as often as have I--you will have learnt that haste is fatal to all enterprises. Failure means the forfeiture of something; tonight it would mean the forfeiture of our lives, and it were a pity to let such good efforts as these”--and with a wave of the hand he indicated their two captors--“go wasted.” “Sir,” exclaimed Kenneth, well-nigh beside himself, “if you come not with me, I go alone!” “Whither?” asked Crispin dryly. “Out of this.” Galliard bowed slightly. “Fare you well, sir. I'll not detain you. Your way is clear, and it is for you to choose between the door and the window.” And with that Crispin turned his back upon his companion and crossed to the bed, where the trooper lay glaring in mute anger. He stooped, and unbuckling the soldier's swordbelt--to which the scabbard was attached--he girt himself with it. Without raising his eyes, and keeping his back to Kenneth, who stood between him and the door, he went next to the table, and, taking up the sword that he had left there, he restored it to the sheath. As the hilt clicked against the mouth of the scabbard: “Come, Sir Crispin!” cried the lad. “Are you ready?” Galliard wheeled sharply round. “How? Not gone yet?” said he sardonically. “I dare not,” the lad confessed. “I dare not go alone.” Galliard laughed softly; then suddenly waxed grave. “Ere we go, Master Kenneth, I would again remind you of your assurance that were we to regain our liberty you would aid me in the task of vengeance that lies before me.” “Once already have I answered you that it is so.” “And pray, are you still of the same mind?” “I am, I am! Anything, Sir Crispin; anything so that you come away!” “Not so fast, Kenneth. The promise that I shall ask of you is not to be so lightly given. If we escape I may fairly claim to have saved your life, 'twixt what I have done and what I may yet do. Is it not so?” “Oh, I acknowledge it!” “Then, sir, in payment I shall expect your aid hereafter to help me in that which I must accomplish, that which the hope of accomplishing is the only spur to my own escape.” “You have my promise!” cried the lad. “Do not give it lightly, Kenneth,” said Crispin gravely. “It may cause you much discomfort, and may be fraught with danger even to your life.” “I promise.” Galliard bowed his head; then, turning, he took the Bible from the table.