“And have you left them to perish there?” demanded Leonard.

“We couldn’t help it,” rejoined the turnkey.  “It would have been risking our lives to venture near them.  One is a murderer, taken in the fact; and the other is quite as bad, for he set the city on fire; so its right and fair he should perish by his own contrivance.”

“Where does the Stone Hold lie?” cried Leonard, in a tone that startled the turnkey.  “I must get these prisoners out.”

“You can’t, I tell you,” rejoined the turnkey, doggedly.  “They’re burnt to a cinder by this time.”

“Give me your keys, and show me the way to the cell,” cried Leonard, authoritatively.  “I will at least attempt to save them.”

“Well, if you’re determined to put an end to yourself, you may try,” replied the turnkey; “but I’ve warned you as to what you may expect.  This way,” he added, opening a door, from which a thick volume of smoke issued; “if any of ’em’s alive, you’ll soon know by the cries.”  And, as if in answer to his remark, a most terrific shriek at that moment burst on their ears.

“Here are the keys,” cried the turnkey, delivering them to Leonard.  “You are not going too?” he added, as Wingfield pushed past him.  “A couple of madmen!  I shouldn’t wonder if they were incendiaries.”

Directed by the cries, Leonard pressed forward through the blinding and stifling smoke.  After proceeding about twenty yards, he arrived at a cross passage where the smoke was not quite so dense, as it found an escape through a small grated aperture in the wall.  And here a horrible sight was presented to him.  At the further extremity of this passage was a small cell, from which the cries he had heard issued.  Not far from it the stone roof had fallen in, and from the chasm thus caused the flames were pouring into the passage.  Regardless of the risk he ran, Leonard dashed forward, and reaching the cell, beheld Grant, still living, but in such a dreadful state, that it was evident his sufferings must soon be ended.  His hair and beard were singed close to his head and face, and his flesh was blistered, blackened, and scorched to the bone.  On seeing Leonard, he uttered a hoarse cry, and attempted to speak, but the words rattled in his throat.  He then staggered forward, and, to Leonard’s inexpressible horror, thrust his arms through the bars of the cage, which were literally red-hot.  Seeing he had something in one hand, though he could not unclose his fingers, Leonard took it from him, and the wretched man fell backwards.  At this moment a loud crack was heard in the wall behind.  Several ponderous stones dropped from their places, admitting a volume of flame that filled the whole cell, and disclosing another body on the floor, near which lay that of Grant.  Horrified by the spectacle, Leonard staggered off, and, catching Wingfield’s arm, sought to retrace his steps.  This was no easy matter, the smoke being so dense, that they could not see a foot before them, and was obliged to feel their way along the wall.  On arriving at the cross passage, Wingfield would fain have turned off to the right, but Leonard drew him forcibly in the opposite direction; and most fortunate was it that he did so, or the worthy farmer would inevitably have perished.  At last they reached the lodge, and sank down on a bench from exhaustion.