"Mr. Vondy! Mr. Vondy! Your prisoner is ill."
The jailer, who had fallen asleep after his supper, staggered to his
feet.
"God bless my soul! And the doctor living at the other end of the
town too."
"Never mind the doctor! Brandy! Quick!"
"There isn't a drop in the Castle, Sir."
"Yes, there's a flask in my room. Take these" (giving him a bunch of
keys) "and go for it."
"Where will I find it, Sir?"
"I don't know. I can't remember. Look everywhere--in every drawer,
every cupboard."
"I will, your Honour."
"Don't come back without it."
"I won't, Sir." And still in the mists of sleep the jailer picked up
his lantern from the table and staggered off.
Stowell listened to the sounds of the old man's retreating footsteps
until they had died away.
"This will give more time," he thought--he had sent the jailer on a
fruitless errand.
It was then five minutes to eleven. Returning to the cell he lifted
Bessie in his arms and carried her out of the prison. At first he
was no more conscious of her weight than he had been of the weight of
the sheep on the mountains.
But outside it was very dark, and at every uncertain step his burden
became heavier. In the open space between the main building and the
outer walls the fog lay thick as in a well, and it was as much as he
could do to see one foot before him.
Over the wooden drawbridge his feet fell with a thudding sound, but
he groped for the grass at the bottom of the stone steps, so that he
should not be heard on the gravel path.
There was no sound in the court-yard except that of the fierce
belching from the funnel of the steamer, the wash of the tide in the
harbour, the boom of the sea in the bay and the monotonous blowing of
the fog-horn.
He was making for the Deemster's private entrance and had no light to
guide him except the borrowed gleam from the door to the Deemster's
rooms, which the jailer in his haste had left open. As he passed
this door he heard the sound of the rapid opening and closing of
drawers. The weight of the woman in his arms was becoming unbearable.
At one moment he saw the shadowy outlines of a white thing which the
carpenters had erected against the walls. He shuddered and went on.
The damp air was chill and Bessie began to revive under it. At first
she breathed heavily, and then she made those low, inarticulate moans
of returning consciousness which are the most unearthly sounds that
come from human lips.
"Mr. Von--.... Mr. Von--...."
Both arms being engaged, Stowell had to crush the girl's mouth
against his breast to stop her cries. They ceased and she swooned
again.
His burden was becoming monstrous. With a savage strength of will
and muscle he struggled along. At length he reached the Deemster's
door. It was fastened as he knew, not only by the lock of which the
key was in his waistcoat pocket, but also by three long bolts. With
the unconscious girl in his arms it was as much as he could do to
open it. At last he did so. A pale face was outside. It was Gell's.
"Take her--she has fainted." Not another word was spoken.
Gell, breathing rapidly, took Bessie into his arms, and carried her
across the quay. Stowell watched him until he reached the gangway,
and then the sea mist hid him. He heard Gell walking on the deck and
then going, with heavy footsteps, down the cabin companion.
He closed the Deemster's door, locked and bolted it, and then turned
back to the prison. Again he kept to the grass and was conscious of
an effort to make his footsteps light.
On reaching the drawbridge he looked back and listened. The opening
and closing of drawers was still audible. The funnel of the steamer
was still belching invisible smoke, and red sparks from the fires
below were shooting through it. The tide was still washing in the
harbour, the sea was still booming in the bay, and the fog-horn was
still blowing on Langness. Save for these sights and sounds,
everything was dark and silent within the great blind walls.
Then the clock in the tower struck eleven. Every stroke fell on the
clammy air like a blow from a padded hammer.