"Well, well--this is a pretty sight!" ejaculated the captain. It was, indeed. A candle was guttering on the table amid empty flagons and spilled wine. Motionless in a corner lay the prisoner, just where Gilbert last saw him, apparently asleep now, in spite of his pain and the stifling air. At full length, opposite, stretched Saville, a brawny Irishman of middle years, sound asleep. Tracey, similarly oblivious to all responsibilities, snored beside Saville. "More brutishness!" thought Boyd, in disgust at such a spectacle; "and yet I would they had but dropped off an hour earlier!" Jermain and Roxley began trying to rouse the derelict pair. It was no use. Each relapsed into a stupidity more hopelessly complete at each attempt. The captain suddenly gave up the task with a spasm of profanity that horrified Boyd, and drew from him a stern rebuke. "They both deserve to be court-martialled and shot," declared Jermain. "Wait until we get to Neith! No, I don't care how informal their service is, Roxley. They shall be hung up by the thumbs for this--Dawkin, too." "What--what's to be done, captain?" demanded Roxley, in a sudden attempt to hide his own dubious condition that was ludicrous to behold. "To be done? Why, those fellows must be let lie where they are--no use trying to stir them. We must get him above-stairs ourselves. By Jove, Boyd, I'm glad of your strong-room, with a vengeance! Look at those two; look at Roxley--and," he added, with a laugh, "look at me! Strong-room be praised! I am too tired to play watchman, and I seem to be the only one fit--were it my place--which it certainly is not! But--by the sword of Claverhouse!--somebody ought to have an open ear to what goes on inside or outside this house, between now and morning. A surprise might be undertaken by the Jacobite farmers hereabouts. What's that? You can ask one of your hinds to mount guard upstairs with Roxley?" Boyd reiterated his proposal. "H'm--I don't know. Yet why not? Yes, let it be so. If I should have to report such a thing, I would have to be mum about Roxley's status. Here, pray lend a hand. Be lively, Roxley. Up, you varlet!" The prisoner struggled sullenly to his feet. Boyd dared not yet speak to him. Roxley was close on the other side. But his eyes met the captive's with a meaning look. Just as they came to the stairs Roxley stumbled. Jermain leaned to his aid. It was Boyd's opportunity, albeit one of seconds only. "_The sentinel is a friend,_" he whispered--"_he will speak with you. Expect him._" There was time for no more; but he felt the man's hobbled foot pressed upon his own. He had been understood, at least in part. They reached the East Room. "In with you, sirrah!" said Roxley, urging on their charge with a thrust past the iron-studded door of the cell. He made no resistance while they bound his legs more tightly.