Oh, the buzz of joy and of prayer from all those white lips! Oh,
the light of returning hope in all those sunken weary eyes! One
wild shout would have gone up had not Nigel's outstretched hands
and warning voice hushed them to silence.
He opened the door behind him. A curving newel staircase wound
upward into the darkness. He listened, but no sound came down.
There was a key in the outer lock of the iron door. He whipped it
out and turned it on the inner side. The ground that they had
gained was safe. Now they could turn to the relief of these poor
fellows beside them. A few strong blows struck off the irons and
freed the three dancers before the fire. With a husky croak of
joy, they rushed across to their comrades' water-barrels, plunged
their heads in like horses, and drank and drank and drank. Then
in turn the poor shivering wretches were taken out of the barrels,
their skins bleached and wrinkled with long soaking. Their bonds
were torn from them; but, cramped and fixed, their limbs refused
to act, and they tumbled and twisted upon the floor in their
efforts to reach Nigel and to kiss his hand.
In a corner lay Aylward, dripping from his barrel and exhausted
with cold and hunger. Nigel ran to his side and raised his head.
The jug of wine from which the two jailers had drunk still stood
upon their table. The Squire placed it to the archer's lips and
he took a hearty pull at it.
Pages:
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403