The Prisoner in the Dungeon
Sir Claudius, returning in about half an hour, bade me gruffly follow
him, and then led the way down many steps and through gloomy passages
until we reached a huge dark subterranean hall, the extreme
chilliness of which was deathly and vaultlike in its nature.
'Pleasant, is it not?' sneered my guide. Thereupon he whistled, and
a pale-faced lad, dressed in garments made of skins, came quickly out
of the darkness and ran towards him.
'Prisoner ready, Saul?' interrogated Sir Claudius.
'Yes, master,' answered the lad, looking from him to me with startled
eyes. He added something which I did not catch.
Sir Claudius hesitated a moment before saying to the lad, with a
frown, 'Stay here with this lady and take care of her; you
understand?'
'Yes, master. I must not let her escape.'
The man nodded.
'I shall soon return,' he said, and vanished into the darkness.
A few moments of intense silence followed. Full of apprehension and
dread about my own safety and that of Sir Hubert Blair, I was not
thinking at all about the boy, when he startled me by saying in low
tones--
'I think you must be the lady who tried to save my grandmother's
life?'
'Your grandmother's life?' I asked wonderingly. 'When? Where?'
'I have heard about you since you came here, from the servants, and I
think you must be the lady,' continued the lad slowly. 'It was many
weeks ago, not very far from Horsham. Wicked men made out that my
grandmother was a witch and drowned her. My dear old grandmother!'
he sobbed. 'But you tried to save her life.'
'Was she your grandmother?' asked I, thinking of the so-called witch,
who had implored me frantically to save her.
'Yes, lady. She was one of the best of women,' answered Saul
sorrowfully. 'I knew it was you,' he added, 'who was so good to her,
because he who told me all about it said that the lady who tried to
save her looked like an angel, with hair of gold, a face like pink
wild roses and eyes like big speedwells. Your face is rather too
white, but the other part of you answers to the description exactly.'
'I certainly tried to protect a poor old woman from her wicked
enemies,' said I; 'and I remember now one of the charges against her
was that she had done away with her own grandson. I suppose that was
you?'
'Yes, lady. And it was a wicked lie. My master it was who stole me
away from home and brought me here to be his slave and turnkey. I
hate him. He is cruel as death. He has a gallows, and he kills
people without any trial, or with only a mock trial.'
'Terrible!' I exclaimed, and was just beginning to ask questions
about Sir Hubert when footsteps were to be heard returning, and Saul
whispered--
'I will try to save you, for the sake of what you did for my dear,
good grandmother----' he broke off, for, alas! he had said too much.
'Dog!' cried Sir Claudius, kicking him so brutally that the poor lad
fell upon his knees with a cry of pain.
'You do that in my presence!' exclaimed I. 'And yet you profess to
love me?'
'Silence, in the lad's presence!' commanded Sir Claudius gruffly.
'What business had he to whisper to you? What was he saying?'
'Does it matter what a young boy says?' asked I, remembering just in
time that it might be better policy to soothe than to anger him.
'You dare to whisper to a prisoner in my castle?' exclaimed Sir
Claudius, turning again upon the lad and beginning to kick and cuff
him unmercifully.
Every cry of the poor boy's went to my heart. I seemed to feel each
blow myself, and begged pitifully for mercy. But I might as well
have spoken to the great stone walls. Sir Claudius did not stop
until poor Saul lay motionless upon the ground; then, leaving him
stunned, the tyrant seized my hand and drew me from the spot, through
the darkness to the far side of the hall, where there was an immense
circular opening in the ground.
'Look down. Look into the dungeon below,' he said.
I peered into the gloomy depths and saw a man lying on some straw
with his back toward us; but it was so dark that I could discern
neither his clothes, nor exact size, nor the colour of his hair. I
simply saw that there was a man and that he was lying down in a
helpless, hopeless attitude, as if too weak to stand.
'That is Sir Hubert Blair,' said Sir Claudius. 'He has not fared so
well as you. He has scarcely had such sumptuous lodgings. He is
ill. Ha! ha! If we do not bring him to the gallows quickly, or
release him, he will spare us the trouble.'
A bitter cry fell from my lips. I seemed to be in a hideous
nightmare.
The man in the dungeon started, but did not turn round.
'Hubert! Hubert!' I called.
No answer. The prisoner lay quite still now.
'He does not hear,' said the harsh voice by my side. 'He is farther
off than you think.'
I knew he lied, for had I not seen the man start when I first cried
out? Was he Sir Hubert? I strained my eyes, but could not see if it
was he. Why did he not turn round? Sir Hubert would have turned in
a moment at my cry.
'Sir Hubert Blair,' I shouted, 'it is I--Margery Brown--will you not
look at me? Turn round. Please--please turn round.'
I spoke in vain. The prisoner did not turn. He stayed in the same
position.
'Oh, why does he not turn? I want to see his face,' I said.
Sir Claudius regarded me sternly.
'I said you might see, but not speak to him,' he said; 'and I only
meant you to look at him.'
'But I want to see his face,' I said. 'I must see his face. Please
ask him to turn towards us.'
Sir Claudius looked annoyed. At last he said with evident
reluctance--
'He cannot turn round. He is chained in that position to an iron
staple in the wall.'
I burst into tears. It is a woman's refuge when words fail her, and
sometimes it softens the beholder, but not in this case; the man
standing by my side possessed a heart of stone.
'Tears do no good, madam,' said he. 'It is perfectly useless for you
to stand there weeping.'
'How long has he been chained there?' I asked at length.
'A day or two,' answered Sir Claudius airily. 'If you really wish
him to be liberated,' he said, 'you have it in your power to set him
free--otherwise, as I said, to-morrow morning--the gallows.'
'Oh, no! No!' cried I. 'Not that! Not that!'
'But I say it must be that, unless----'
'Tell me,' said I, 'does he know what fate is in store for him?'
'No. He does not know yet. But I can tell him now. He will hear my
voice if I shout.'
'Oh, but do not shout it,' I exclaimed heroically, resolving that if
I could prevent it Sir Hubert should never hear that dreadful
sentence.
'Then you consent to marry me?'
'Will Sir Hubert be liberated immediately if I do?' asked I.
By this time I was certain that the prisoner was indeed my poor
lover, for my straining eyes could discern that he had black hair and
that his size and figure corresponded exactly. Moreover his dress
appeared to be exactly the same as that Sir Hubert wore when last I
saw him. My one desire, therefore, was to save him from the gallows.
'Immediately. I guarantee that he shall be set free immediately.'
'If I consent, may I be allowed to tell him the good news about his
freedom?'
The other was silent. He seemed to be weighing the pros and cons of
the matter.
'Please allow me,' I entreated.
'Very well. If you promise to become my wife?'
I bowed--not being able to speak. The next moment I cried
triumphantly--
'Hubert! Hubert! You are about to be set free. You are about to be
liberated. I, your Margery, have effected this. Never forget me.'
My voice broke into sobs, and, weeping bitterly, I suffered my
companion to lead me away.
Was it imagination, or did I really hear an anxious voice calling
after us as Sir Claudius led me away from the subterranean hall and
up a steep flight of stone steps? My companion declared that it was
nothing but the echo of our own footsteps, yet I had my doubts.