too weary to be wakeful.  It took scarcely a minute to creep toward Reuben, and Betty drew a quick breath of relief when she perceived that the farmer-bred lad, unaccustomed to night watches, and feeling that his prisoner was secure behind the bolted door, had fallen fast asleep.  Another minute and she had fairly flown through the hall and reached the door of the garret stairs; she recollected that the latch had a troublesome creak occasionally; indeed, she had noticed it only that very day, as she and Sally Tracy had mounted to their eyrie in the big dormer window of the garret, where safe from all ears they were wont to confide their girlish secrets to each other.

“Pray Heaven it creak not to-night,” said Betty to herself as she gently and steadily pulled the handle of the latch and saw the dreaded door open to her hand.  Inside stepped Betty, and made breathless pause while she closed it, and the amiable latch fell softly down again into its place.  Swift as a flash the girlish figure flitted up the winding narrow stairs, and gasping but triumphant Betty seated herself on the lowest step of the trap-ladder to await the coming of Geoffrey Yorke.

In the bedroom below, Miss Moppet, whose soul was thrilling with mingled delight and terror at being an actor in a “real story,” waited as she was told until she heard the deep voice of the clock, sounding rather more awful than usual, say “one, two, three!” and then tiptoeing over the bare floor she opened with small trembling fingers the tiny aperture and whispered, “Are you there?” starting back half frightened as the instant answer came, close beside her: 

“Yes, is it time?”

“Betty is in the garret by now,” she faltered.  “Oh, sir, be careful and fare you well!”

For answer Geoffrey Yorke bent down, and taking the small cold fingers extended to him, pressed a kiss on them, and with a soft “farewell” began his passage up the chimney.

It was no such very difficult task he found, to his satisfaction, for Betty was right, and by feeling carefully with his hands he perceived the friendly pegs which Reuben had inserted, and of which Oliver had no knowledge, else he would not have trusted so agile and strong a prisoner within their reach.  Geoffrey’s broad shoulders were the only sufferers, but the rough homespun which covered them was a better protection than his uniform would have been, and he again blessed the good fortune which had thrown the disguise in his way as he left Fairfield four days before.

Betty, sitting on the ladder step, straining her ears to catch the first sound, became conscious of a light sound as Geoffrey swung himself from the chimney top to the roof, and she sped up the ladder to unhook the door of the trap just as he reached it.

“Speak not a word,” she said in his ear, as he set his foot on the ladder, “but fasten the hook lest they discover that the door has been opened.  Now, give me your hand,” and in the darkness the strong, manly hand closed firmly over her dainty fingers with a clasp which, strangely enough, inspired her with fresh courage.