The next time the woman came with their food, he made it a point to stand close to the grating, silent, cold-mannered, watchful. He could see Meg’s eyes snap with anger as she glanced in at him. She shoved the food into his cell; then in a sudden fit of cat-like fury she thrust her arm through the grating once more and aimed a blow at him. Like lightning the boy grasped her by the wrist, and throwing the full weight of his sinewy young body into the effort, he dragged her close against the cell door and held her fast. She struggled and fought like a tigress, but it was useless. He had but to wrench her arm slightly backward in order to bring a shriek from her. “Let me go,” she panted, glaring through the grating at him in a fury. “Let me go, I say.” “I will when you unlock this door.” “Let go,” cried Meg, resuming her frantic struggles. But a backward twitch of the fast held arm brought a scream of pain from her, and she was quiet once more. “The key,” demanded Ethan, firmly. “Unlock the door.” “I have no key.” “I see it among those at your belt,” said Ethan. With a snarl, Meg whipped out a murderous looking knife with her free hand, and reaching through the grating made a lunge at him. But, held as she was, she could not touch him, and another severe twist at the arm caused her to drop the knife and writhe with pain. By this time Longsword was storming up and down in his cell. He could hear what they said, but, because of his situation, could not see anything of what was transpiring; his repeated calls to Ethan received no answer, for Ethan was too engrossed in his work to heed him. “Once more,” said he, ignoring the woman’s cries, “give me the key.” “I can’t reach it,” she said. “Let my arm go and I’ll give it to you.” “You’ll give it to me now,” he replied steadily. “I’ll give you my word,” she whimpered. But he knew better than to let slip his advantage; for once free she would laugh at him. So he persisted in his demand, his strong fingers clasped like steel about her wrist; and finally, groaning and lamenting the fate that would be meted out to her by Danvers, she selected the key from the bunch at her belt, fitted it in the lock and turned it. Slowly the door swung open, then Ethan released her and sprang out into the passage. “Hurra!” shouted Longsword, as he caught sight of him. “Well done, Master Ethan.” “Now the other key,” said the youthful American. The woman hesitated, casting a look at the knife upon the floor; but Ethan kicked it beyond her reach and snatched the keys. She then sullenly indicated the one that opened Longsword’s dungeon, and in a moment the Irish ex-dragoon was free also. But scarcely had the latter executed the first intricate steps of a joyful Irish jig upon the flags of the passage, when there came the sound of a closing door from above, followed by footfalls upon the floor directly over their heads. The woman uttered a cry of delight. “They have come!” she cried. “Whom?” asked Ethan.