Hildebrand Clifford, on distinguishing the sound that had alarmed him to be the tread of an approaching foot, gently laid his hand on the arm of the young Spaniard, who was a pace or two nearer the door, and drew him back. The sound came nearer, and Hildebrand felt his friend’s arm, which he still held, tremble violently. His agitation, though it might be owing to his extreme youth, and the novelty and strong excitement of the occasion, more than downright cowardice, greatly degraded him in the estimation of Hildebrand, and he began to regard him with some degree of contempt. But recollecting that it was to serve him the young cavalier had placed himself in danger, the feeling had scarcely found harbourage in his bosom, on the spur of the discovery, when he repelled it; and the irresolution of the Spaniard only rendered him more prompt and decided.

The former seemed to be sensible that it was on Hildebrand their safety depended. On coming behind the door, he presented him with his pistols; and, without interchanging a word, or manifesting the least hesitation, yielded himself passively to his control.

Meantime, the unfriendly footstep, after approaching close to the door, suddenly paused, and the door was pushed open. As the door opened, it screened Hildebrand and his ally, who, with this view, had placed themselves on the inner side of it; and, consequently, the person entering did not observe them. Nor could they, at the first start, survey him, being equally blinded by the door, though, from his ignorance of what had passed, he alone was open to surprise. To take him by surprise was Hildebrand’s object. Directly he heard him clear the range of the door, and before he could glance round the dungeon, he threw the door back, and, while he thus cut off his retreat, prepared to reduce him to subjection.

The individual thus surprised was one of the gaoler’s assistants. He was a short man, and, though thick-set, of a frame that, in a struggle for mastery, would render him but a poor match for the muscular energies of Hildebrand. He was, moreover, except for a long knife which was thrust through his girdle, unarmed, and further incapacitated for offensive measures by his surprise.

His first glance had informed him of the position of affairs in the dungeon, and, with the door closed against retreat, his survey, it may be supposed, was not calculated to encourage him. While he was yet overwhelmed with alarm, Hildebrand, seizing his arm with one hand, levelled one of his pistols at him with the other, and, in a decided and peremptory tone, proceeded to require his surrender.

“Lie thee down there,” he said, pointing to where his master, the gaoler, still lay senseless, “and no harm shall come to thee. If thou hesitate, I will straight take thy life.”

The man, however, did hesitate, though only for a moment. Seeing that Hildebrand displayed no indecision, he shortly fulfilled his injunction, and laid himself down by the gaoler without a word.

All these incidents, which it has taken so long to describe, scarcely occupied a moment, and, as has been remarked, the gaoler was still insensible. Hildebrand did not fail to seize this advantage. Directly the gaoler’s man had lain down, he hastened to secure him, and, at the same time, further secure his master, by tying them together by their arms and legs. Their leather girdles, with the sash of his companion, which he quickly possessed himself of, supplied him with the necessary bonds; and, in a moment after the design had occurred to him, they no longer afforded him ground for any apprehension.

Having tied them well together, he turned to his ally.

“Now, Senhor, quick!” he said. “Take up the light, and lead the way.”

The young Spaniard, with a trembling hand, which Hildebrand did not overlook, caught up the lamp, and drew open the door. Hildebrand followed him into the passage, when, turning round, he paused to secure the door. Having drawn it home to the jamb, and shot the bolts into their sockets, he prepared to set forward again.

“Art thou well advised of the way?” he whispered to his companion.

“Right surely,” answered the other. “But there is a chamber on one side of the door, overlooking the passage, where, when I entered, there was an alguazil on guard. I waited there, on my entry, while the gaoler examined my pass; and I noted that the alguazil was armed.”

Although Hildebrand had remarked in the young cavalier what he could not but consider as traces of cowardice, the manner in which he delivered this information, and the forethought and judgment revealed by its acquisition, effaced the impression he had conceived in that respect, and quite restored him to his esteem. Indeed, he began to think, from his present bearing and aspect, that the manifestations which he had supposed to indicate pusillanimity were rather the effect of the passing excitement, and that it was the novelty of his situation, not its peril, that had so sensibly agitated him. He did not pause to make these reflections, but, with the quickness of perception peculiar to his profession, caught them on the instant; and then rendered his reply.

“’Twas most admirably noted, Senhor,” he said. “Take good heart now; and lead the way.”

The Spaniard, without making a reply, hereupon stepped forward, and preceded Hildebrand up a contiguous flight of steps. On reaching the summit, they found themselves in a short passage, which was crossed, a little higher up, by another passage, running the whole length of the gaol. Glancing up the passage on his right hand, Hildebrand distinguished the gaol-door; and on one side of this, in the wall of the passage, the open door of the guard-chamber. A flood of light issued from the latter doorway; and the necessity for their own light being thus superseded, Hildebrand signed to his companion, who was waiting his directions, to lay it down. He then waved him to the rear, and, with a cautious but unhesitating step, led the way himself.

All was quiet. But the guard-chamber, if the light were any evidence, was no doubt tenanted, and probably by more persons than one. It is true, it was close to the door; but its proximity, far from being advantageous, was rather adverse to a clandestine egress, and, as the door of the chamber was wide open, to pass it unobserved was almost beyond their hopes. Even should they be able to accomplish this object, they had still to open the gaol-door, which, at the least, was well secured with bolts, and might possibly be locked.

Hildebrand was fully alive to these varied difficulties. After he had once stepped forward, however, he did not pause, but pursued his way undaunted.

They passed along on tiptoe. They ordered their movements so noiselessly, that the silence, unbroken by their progress, rang in their ears, and they could almost hear the beat of their own hearts. A few paces brought them in a line with the door, and Hildebrand, emboldened by the prevailing stillness, ventured to peep round.

In a line with the door, on the further side of the chamber, was a fire; but the smoke which issued from it passed pretty regularly through the chimney-hole in the roof, and the view, though clouded, was no way broken. A man stood before the fire, warming one of his hands; and though he had his back to the door, a lighted lamp which hung from the roof, about midway across, enabled Hildebrand to observe that he was armed. Indeed, one of his hands, which was thrown back from the fire, clasped the barrel of a caliver, the butt of which rested on the floor; and even if he had no other weapon, he was in this invincible.

As Hildebrand observed his disposition, he mechanically raised his pistol, and levelled it at his head. But, though self-preservation is an overpowering impulse, the truly brave heart, however excited, will always shrink from a sacrifice of life; and Hildebrand had scarcely extended his pistol when he drew it back. Still holding the pistol in his hand, he placed the other hand, which he had at liberty, on the arm of his companion, and passed that person towards the gaol-door.

The young Spaniard reached the door in a moment. The guard, as in the first instance, still kept his face to the fire, and evidently felt perfectly secure. Satisfied with his disposition, Hildebrand resolved to pass the aperture himself. He had reached the middle of the doorway, when, feeling secure of the guard, he ventured to turn off his gaze, and glance at his companion. Just as he did so, the guard, whether from a desire to change his position, or that he heard something to alarm him, wheeled round from the fire, and perceived him. He raised his caliver directly, and, with a steady aim, levelled it at Hildebrand’s head.

“Stand!” he cried, “or I fire!”

Hildebrand stood as still as a statue. To move was certain death; for the guard, besides that he stood right opposite to him, was scarcely twelve paces distant. His companion, although, from his being under the cover of the passage-wall, he could not see the guard, fully understood his situation, and saw that his first movement would probably be his last. A spasm passed over his face as this horrible truth occurred to him. For a moment—not only as regarded his person, but his complexion—he seemed perfectly petrified: then, with recovered energy, he darted forward, and threw himself between Hildebrand and his enemy.

His unexpected obtrusion evidently threw the latter off his guard. Before he could recover himself, Hildebrand had raised his pistol, and they now, to a certain extent, stood almost on an equality. Hildebrand knew that, in this situation, a great deal would depend on having the first shot, and that that alone could save him. Pausing only to push back his companion, he steadied his aim, and fired.

The alguazil fired almost at the same instant. The young Spaniard, whom Hildebrand had just before pushed under cover, heard both the reports at once, and watched for the result with the most intense terror. To his great joy, Hildebrand, when the smoke passed away, appeared wholly unhurt; but a heavy fall in the chamber, following the last report, intimated that such was not the case with his adversary. The flash of Hildebrand’s pistol, which his eager eyes instantly detected, had shaken the alguazil’s aim, and his charge passed harmlessly over Hildebrand’s shoulder. Before he could observe its effect, he received Hildebrand’s charge in the centre of his forehead, and fell to the floor a corpse.

The report of the fire-arms, which the prevailing silence carried a good distance, raised an alarum throughout the gaol, and voices and footsteps were heard in every direction. The fugitives had not a moment to spare; for the door, if it happened to be locked, might still cut off their retreat, and, in any case, presented an obstacle not to be trifled with.

The young Spaniard, who had recently displayed such heroism, seemed to have lost his self-possession again, and stood perfectly still. Fortunately, however, Hildebrand’s characteristic promptitude, which was unshaken, made up for his inertness. Directly he saw the alguazil fall, he sprang towards the gaol-door; and gently drawing back his companion, who, in his distraction, had thrown himself right in his way, proceeded to examine it.

The door was secured by two massy bolts, one at the bottom, and the other at the top; and a lock, from the keyhole of which, attached to the key of the door, was suspended a bunch of large keys. Hildebrand drew back the bolts in a moment, and, with the same despatch, turned back the key, and pulled the door open.

The night, though not far advanced, was pitchy dark, and thus calculated to cover their retreat. Although, however, it was so far in their favour, it was not altogether propitious, inasmuch as the darkness prevented them from pursuing their way with that accuracy that they would have done in the light. There were three or four steps at the door, leading into the gaol-yard; and, on darting out of the doorway, Hildebrand only escaped falling over these steps, which he could not distinguish, by his prolonged spring. Thus held up, he alighted unhurt in the yard, and pushed forward amain.

The yard, after passing along the front of the gaol, turned a little higher up, and continued its course along one of its sides. It was enclosed by a stone wall, about ten feet high; but at its further extremity, fronting the side of the gaol, there was an iron gate, which it would not be difficult to scale. Hildebrand, though the internal structure of the gaol had escaped his memory, remembered these particulars, and, having once reached the yard, he made for the gate directly.

As he came to the corner of the gaol, where the yard turned along the side, he was about to wheel round, when he ran against a man, with his arms extended for action, who was approaching from the opposite quarter.

They both started back a few paces.

“Avast there, mate!” cried the stranger, in English. “What cheer?”

“Halyard!” exclaimed Hildebrand, recognising the voice of his chief mariner. “How camest thou here?”

“I came with the Don to the gate,” answered Halyard. “Hearing fire-arms, I guessed ye were making way; and so, not to miss sport, came to lend a hand. The gate is open.”

“Where is our friend?” cried Hildebrand, looking round.

The young Spaniard, instead of being behind him, as he supposed him to be, was nowhere visible. Though the din within the gaol was now greatly heightened, and indicated that pursuit was close upon them, Hildebrand, on ascertaining this, sprang back to the gaol-door, determined to perish rather than leave him behind.

On gaining the door, he found him lying on the steps. In the hurry of his egress, and the prevailing darkness, the steps had escaped his observation, and, striding heedlessly forward, he had fallen over them. Hildebrand, though concerned at his situation, did not pause to inquire how this had happened, but, without a word of greeting, caught him up in his arms, and thus proceeded to carry him off.

They reached the gate without being interrupted. Halyard, who had closely followed Hildebrand, then led the way, and Hildebrand followed with the young cavalier.

After they had gone a short distance, the last-named personage, addressing Hildebrand, expressed a desire to be set on his feet, as he was perfectly able to pursue his way unaided. Hildebrand, who had caught him up with the impression that he was seriously hurt, instantly complied with his request; but, at the same time, declared that he would see him bestowed in safety, either at his own residence, or that of Donna Inez, before he proceeded further.

“There is no safety here now,” answered the cavalier, in an agitated voice, “for either thee or me. I must with thee to England.”

Hildebrand was silent.

“Think not,” resumed the cavalier, with increased agitation, “that I would impose myself on thee at thy charge. I have left a casket on board thy ship, under care of thy lieutenant here, that will more than meet my expenditure. Howbeit, rather than put thee to trouble——”

“Prithee name it not, Senhor,” replied Hildebrand. “All that I have, to my very life, is thine, and shall be to the last. Go with me, an’ thou wilt. But,” he added, in a lower tone, so as not to be heard by Halyard, “shall we not see thy fair cousin first?”

“Dost thou so love her, then?” asked the cavalier. And Hildebrand thought that his small, soft hand, which he still held in his, trembled a little, and lost itself in his clasp.

“I would see her before we go,” Hildebrand answered; “for we may never meet again.”

The cavalier drew back his hand.

“She will not see thee,” he said, hastily. “She hath given me a billet for thee, wherein, as I understood her, she so tells thee her mind. Wilt thou read it?”

Then, without raising his eyes, which for the last few minutes had been fixed on the ground, he presented Hildebrand with a sealed billet. The latter person eagerly accepted it, and, with an involuntary sigh, thrust it into his vest.

They had lingered behind during this brief dialogue. When Hildebrand had disposed of the Donna’s note, he stepped forward more boldly, and they shortly came abreast of Halyard.

“Art thou making for the mole?” asked Hildebrand of that person.

“No, captain, but for the beach,” answered Halyard. “I have a boat off the beach, with muffled oars.”

“Muffled oars?” echoed Hildebrand.

“Faith, I forgot to tell thee, captain,” rejoined Halyard; “but the Dons boarded us this morning. They seemed to be satisfied, after well overhauling us, that we were Scots; but, since then, we have a great gun-boat anchored alongside of us, and I doubt not are closely watched.”

“An’ the moon rise not quickly,” observed Hildebrand, “we may baffle them.”

Halyard, whether because he was of a different opinion, or that he conceived his sentiments to be unimportant, made no reply, and they pursued their way in silence. After a short interval, they came to the water-side, and passed directly to the beach.

Not a person was about, and the dark hulls of the shipping, scattered here and there over the water, at various distances, were the only objects that could be distinguished. After progressing for a few minutes, however, the quick eyes of the two Englishmen, used to maritime observation, discerned the less striking outline of their boat. It was lying afloat, a length or two out from the beach, with its oars—whether as a precaution against surprise, or for some less obvious purpose—shipped for service, and its coxswain stationed ready at the rudder.

A shrill whistle from Halyard, with a cry of “Boat ahoy!” uttered in a low but distinct tone, reached the coxswain’s ears, and the boat was instantly shot up to the beach. Halyard and Hildebrand, as by a preconcerted arrangement, hereupon stepped on one side, with the view of allowing the young Spaniard to pass in first; but that person, by a negative inclination of his head, declined the precedence, and waved them foremost.

While, in compliance with his wish, they were stepping into the boat, the young cavalier turned round from the water, and glanced earnestly over the indistinct lines of the city. It was his native place; and though, if truly viewed, it might hold none who had any claim on his affections, there habit must have fixed his thoughts, and early associations have rooted his ambition.

Whatever were the ties that connected him with home, there was something singularly distressing, to a sensitive mind, in the prospect opened by their dismission. He was about to start into the wide world—to discard the dearest impressions of nature—to relinquish country, kindred, and birthright, and to trust himself, wholly and unreservedly, to the protection and companionship of strangers. How might not the confidence he reposed in those persons be abused! National prejudice, and, what was more influential, his religion, held them to be enemies; they had been stigmatised as spies; they might be pirates. His lip quivered—probably with hesitation—as the thought occurred to him, and his noble bosom, which for his years displayed uncommon volume, heaved sensibly.

But his indecision was only momentary. The feelings, whatever they were, that had first led him to associate himself with Hildebrand, then revived, and all his involuntary apprehensions subsided. Instead of looking on him as a national enemy, he regarded him only as one of a marked race, who, by their daring and genius, stood out in relief from the rest of the world, the lords and leaders of all mankind.

Hildebrand, with that instinctive apprehension which belongs exclusively to refined minds, readily divined what was passing in the cavalier’s bosom; and though, out of regard for their mutual safety, anxious to proceed, did not offer to bring his meditation to a close. Thus left to himself, the cavalier, as if unmindful of their situation, lingered on the shore for several minutes, and took the final step of entering the boat at his own unbiassed prompture.

END OF VOL. I.

London: Henry Richards, Brydges-street, Covent-garden.