IV

Five minutes passed.

Stowell had returned to the cell, stretched out the brown prison

blankets so as to give the appearance, in the dim light, of a body on

the bed, and was now sitting in the armchair before the fire in the

guard-room. His work was not yet done, and he was listening to the

sounds outside. Until the steamer sailed he must remain in the

Castle to keep watch on the jailer. He was more sure than ever that

he was doing God's work, but he was still behaving like a criminal.

Footsteps approached. The jailer entered, mopping his forehead.

"I can't find it, your Honour, and I've searched everywhere."

"Never mind, Mr. Vondy. Your prisoner recovered from her attack and

is now sleeping peacefully."

"Sleeping, is she? I'll take a look at her."

"Don't! I mean don't go into the cell and disturb her."

"I won't, Sir," said the jailer, from half-way down the corridor.

Stowell listened intently. Presently the jailer returned.

"Aw, yes, she's fast enough! Wonderful the way they sleep on the

last night. Something you told her, perhaps. Has the telegram come,

your Honour?"

"No, and it won't come now. Eleven o'clock, they said. If it didn't

come then I was not to expect it."

"Poor bogh! It will be a shocking thing when Duggie Taggart comes in

the morning. I wouldn't trust but it will be a dead woman itself

we'll be taking out of the cell, Sir."

"I wouldn't trust," said Stowell.

Insensibly he had dropped into the Anglo-Manx. He was trying to find

some excuse for remaining.

"It'll be a middlin' cold drive home, old friend--couldn't you make

me a cup of coffee?"

"With pleasure, Sir," said the jailer. And while the old man stirred

the peats and hung the kettle on the slowrie, Stowell, listening at

the same time to the voices without (the husky brogue of the Irish

Captain and the guttural croaking of the half-tipsy harbour-master)

got him to tell the story of his appointment.

"It was thirty years ago, when I was coachman at Ballamoar in the

'Stranger's' days--a wonderful kind woman your mother was, Sir."

"Hurry up, boys. Bear a hand with that crank"--the swing-bridge was

being opened; the steamer was to go out in spite of the fog.

"I used to be taking her for drives in the morning, and it was always

'Thank you, Mr. Vondy! A beautiful drive, Mr. Vondy!' Aw, gentry,

Sir, gentry born!"

"Damn your eyes, let go that forrard rope"--the Captain was on the

bridge.

"We had a young Irish mare in them days, Sir, and coming home one

morning in harvest, not more than a month before your Honour was

born, Illiam Christian (he was always a toot was Illiam) started his

new reaper in the road field just as we were passing the Nappin, and

the mare bolted."

"Why the divil don't you take in the slack of that starn rope? Do

you want me to come down and dump you overboard?"--the funnels had

ceased to roar and the paddles were plashing.

"I was a middling strong young fellow then, Mr. Stowell, Sir, and if

the mare pulled I pulled too, until one of the reins broke at me and

I was flung off the box."

"Aisy does it! Take in that breast rope, bys"--the steamer was

passing through the gate.

"I wasn't for letting go for all. Not me! Just holding on like mad,

though it was tossing and tumbling on the road I was like a mollag in

a dirty sea."

"Half-steam below there"--the steamer was opening the bay.

"I bet her at last, Sir, and up she came at the Ballamoar gates

blowing like a smithy bellows and sweating tremenjous, but quiet as a

lamb."

"Heave oh and away!"

"I was ragged and torn like a scarecrow, and herself was as white as

a sea-gull, but never a scratch, thank God!"

"Bravo!"

"The Dempster had heard the yelling on the road and down the drive he

came in his dressing-gown and slippers, trembling like a ghost. And

when he saw it was all right with herself, 'Mr. Vondy,' says he, with

the water in his eyes, 'I'll never forget it, Mr. Vondy,' he says."

"And he didn't?"

"'Deed no! Aw, a grand man, the ould Dempster, Sir. Middlin' stiff

in the upper lip, but a man of his word for all. And when Capt'n

Crow pegged out and this place was vacant he put me in for it."

Straining his powers of listening Stowell was still waiting for the

whistle that was to tell him the steamer was clear away.

"Crow? That was Nelson's Crow, wasn't it?"

"Nelson's Crow it was, Sir. One-eyed Crow we were calling him. He

was boatswain on the _Victory_, and when the big man went down he was

in the cockpit holding him in his arms. 'Will I die, Mr. Crow?' said

Nelson. 'We had better wait for the opinion of the ship's doctor,

Sir,' said Crow."

There was a long shrill whistle from a distance. Stowell leapt to

his feet and laughed--the steamer had gone.

"Ah, a rael Manxman, wasn't he? Wouldn't commit himself, you see."

Then he slapped the jailer on the shoulder and said,

"So you've been here thirty years, old friend?"

"About that, Sir," said the jailer.

"But do you know you wouldn't be here thirty hours longer if I were

to tell the Governor what you've done to-night?"

"Why, what's that, your Honour?"

"Left a condemned prisoner without guard, or even without remembering

to lock her up and carry away the keys"--and he threw the keys of the

cell on the table.

"God bless me, yes! I never thought of that. But it was yourself

that sent me out, and your Honour will not tell."

"Not I, old friend. But listen! Nobody in the island knows that

I've been trying to get your prisoner's pardon, and now that it

hasn't come, it's better that nobody should know. So you'll say

nothing to anybody about my being here to-night?"

"Not a word, Sir. But you've done your best for the poor bogh, and

it's Himself will reward you."

It was not until Stowell was outside the Castle that he reflected

that whatever else happened in the morning the jailer must certainly

fall into disgrace.

"I must find a way to make it up to him," he thought.

V

The quay was deserted and the berth of the tramp steamer in the

harbour was an empty space, but in the fever of his impatience

Stowell walked to the end of the pier to make sure that the ship had

gone.

The fog had lifted a little by this time, the fog-horn was no longer

blowing, and against the dark sea he could just make out the darker

hull of the steamer leaving the bay. Farther away he saw the

revolving light from Langness, which was shooting red vapour into the

sky like breath from fiery nostrils. The night air was still cold,

but his forehead was perspiring.

Bessie would be recovering consciousness by this time. "Where am I?"

she would be saying. And then she would hear the throb of the

engines and the wash of the water, and see Alick by her side.

For a moment he lost sight of the ship's stern light (a mist was

sweeping over the surface of the sea) and his anxiety became agony,

but it reappeared at the other side of the light-house and his

spirits rose again. Yes, she was steering north.

"Sail on! Sail on! Sail on!"

He returned to the town. In the thinning fog everything looked

immensely large and frightening. He walked slowly in order not to

attract attention. Passing through the narrow streets he found

nearly all the houses dark. Only two or three of the upper windows

showed light, and from one of them, partly open, he heard the cry of

a sick child.

But in a winding lane, close under the Castle, he came upon a cottage

that was lit up in the lower storey, and loud with many voices. He

recognised it as the house at which he had left Mrs. Collister, and

understood what was happening. The old woman's Primitive friends

were holding a prayer-meeting by her bedside in the kitchen to

comfort her. A man was praying and many women were shouting

responses.

"Save the sinner, O Lord!" (_Hallelujah!_) "She may be inside prison

walls to-night, but show her the Golden Gates are always open."

(_Hallelujah!_) "Remember Thy servant, her mother!" (_Aw yes,

remember her!_) "Her soul is passing through deep waters." (_'Deed it

is, Lord!_) "Stretch out Thy hand as Thou didst to Peter of old and

suffer her not to sink."

Outside the town Stowell had an impulse to run. He found his

motor-car where he had left it and pushed it into the road. While

lighting his lamp he thought he heard sounds from the direction of

the Castle. Had the escape become known? He listened for anything

that might denote alarm. There was nothing.

The Castle clock struck twelve. The fog had nearly gone now, and

looking back he saw the gloomy and forbidding fortress towering over

the sleeping town. A few stars had appeared above it.

All was quiet. The condemned woman had escaped from Castle Rushen.

There was nothing to show that he himself had been there.

With a last look back he started his engine and released his levers,

and his car shot away.